


Hell and You

by JellyPanda00



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Bottom Will Graham, Cannibalism, Complete, Dark Will Graham, Dry Humping, Edging, First Time Blow Jobs, Graphic Description of Murder, Graphic Descriptions of Murder, M/M, Masturbation, Mild Doctor Kink, Murder Husbands, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Not Beta Read, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Post-Fall (Hannibal), Praise Kink, Switching, Top Will Graham, Trust Issues, Will Graham Loves Dogs, Will Graham is a Cannibal, alcohol use, because its hannibal, mild scent kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:54:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 50,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24326104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JellyPanda00/pseuds/JellyPanda00
Summary: Will felt the change in him after the fall. The transformation, his final becoming that all these years had been leading up to. He is determined to show Hannibal that change, to prove his loyalty as they avoid arrest and start their new lives. But the trust issues they both have run deep, and ties to their past keep them from moving on as they spend their days in Cuba, waiting for the best time to make their way to Florence.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 66
Kudos: 352





	1. I know you want it too

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger Warning: Will is under the influence of alcohol when he preforms sexual acts with Hannibal who is not drunk and does not stop it though he does know Will is drunk. It is all consensual acts but could be read as Hannibal being manipulative, even though it is Will's idea!! If this bothers you at all, please don't read this work, I don't want to offend anyone! I myself have been taken advantage of while being drunk and it's so beyond scary I did my best to make it clear that is NOT what is happening in this chapter but I wanted to leave a trigger warning just in case.

Will was beginning to miss the sound of Hannibal Lecter’s voice.

It was a thought that often plagued him at night when Hannibal was in Europe. After Will had betrayed him. 

It was a thought that often plagued him at night when Hannibal was incarcerated for those three years. For Will.

It was a thought that plagued him both day and night now, though the man was sitting only a mere three feet away from him. 

The whiskey burned his throat, setting fire to his chest before settling down into his stomach with a burn that was much appreciated. Will decided he desperately needed a drink if their life was going to continue in the same way it had been for three weeks now, soon to be four since they tumbled off the bluff. The silence ached between them as if it had a pulse, no metaphors or riddles shared between them, just the steady thump of an exposed wound. Silence. It was so unlike what Will was used to when it came to Hannibal he wasn’t sure how to address it, or even if he could.

During the first week of this newfound silence, he attempted to engage Hannibal in questions about where they were headed. After their icy plunge into the cold waters off the cliff, much to his dismay, it was not the arms of God he had awoken in but in the arms of Hannibal, though he supposed they were the one and the same at the end of it all. It was Hannibal that had saved him as always, dragging his unconscious body across the shore to a boat in which they promptly set sail in. Will received the same, short quips of information time and time again, no matter what was asked: they were sailing down the east coast until they could depart to Europe, Will did not need to worry about much more than that. 

They tended to each other’s wounds, nothing but soft touches yet no kind words shared as they did. Will tried again, asking how long it would take them to heal, would Hannibal recover from the gunshot, would his cheek scar, to which the man assured him they would both be fine before retreating to the cabin where they both slept.

For three weeks that was all that had been spoken between them. It was maddening, infuriating, Will wanted to scream, but he couldn’t even call him rude because the man was frustratingly polite in his silence.

Will narrowed his eyes at Hannibal who sat near the front of the boat, the sunset casting him in a golden otherworldly glow. Will sat not far away, sipping on his whiskey as opposed to Hannibal’s fancy wine, held lightly inches from his lips. Neither had said a word all afternoon beside one polite “excuse me” when Will had to brush past the man on the fairly small vessel.

Will had never questioned his attraction to the man. Before Hannibal he was straight, and after Hannibal, he was not. Simple. It was a slow, gradual thing, so slow he almost didn’t realize it was even there until they were standing on the bluff, holding each other as if they were each other’s entire world. The urge to kiss him had been so strong, and it had seemed like he had felt it too, but instead, Will chose to regrettably betray him a final time and throw them both over the edge.

He wished the sea would have just taken him then.

Now though with nothing better to do, he took his time looking him over and admiring the view. His sand-colored hair brushed to the side was growing longer than it had been while he was incarcerated, a hint of stubble gracing his jaw and ending just below his sharp cheekbones. Will could still picture blood dripping down his chin, the sharp contrast of the liquid adding to the dangerously handsome look of the man. He suppressed a shiver at the thought just as he always did. He wasn’t supposed to enjoy how a killer looked, much less covered in the blood of some victim, but he could still feel his cheeks growing pink, taking another long drawl of whiskey for an excuse to the sudden blush before refilling his cup with another two fingers.

“Why are you not speaking to me?”

The question was blurted from his lips before he had a chance to think it through, setting the bottle down on the deck with a slam. He blamed the whiskey once again, this time for his brazenness as his vision lagged behind with every movement of himself or the boat, a fuzzy feeling in his mouth and head.

Hannibal looked over his shoulder, an unreadable expression on his face. “What do you mean, Will? Have we not spoken lately?”

Will clenched his jaw, looking out into the ocean as if the waves held the answer. “No. Not in the way we always have.”

“Ah,” Hannibal sighed, turning himself to fully face Will, giving him his undivided attention. “I see.”

“You see,” Will scoffed, sipping again at his whiskey. “Just as you’ve seen my every attempt to engage you in conversation? Seen me trying to get your attention?”  
“Yes,” he answered simply, a coy smirk on his lips as if he knew exactly what Will wanted from him and was actively denying it.

Absolutely infuriating.

An equally smart quip sat at the edge of his tongue but he refrained, deducing that that conversation would get them nowhere. Instead, Will clenched his jaw on the remark and looked back to him, finding his dark brown eyes in a rare moment of eye contact. He has always found it much easier to look into the doctor’s eyes than anyone else’s, staring into the dark browns made him feel flayed open and yet totally at peace. “Can you at least explain why?”

Hannibal nodded slightly. “Yes, I suppose I do owe you as much. You’ll have to forgive me, Will. It seems my compassion for you knows no ends but I find it hard to trust you lately.”  
“Because I dragged you off the cliff,” Will concluded.

“Because,” Hannibal corrected gently. “Every time I place even a modicum of trust in you, it always seems to be misplaced. I suppose I am simply waiting for the inevitable while trying to distance myself from you.”

The answer stung much more than Will was willing to admit. He wasn’t wrong though, it was easy to see how hard Will was going to have to work to regain his trust.

“The inevitable?” he asked tentatively.

“Yes. For you to call on Uncle Jack or, perhaps try to kill me again yourself or capture me. I find myself less and less willing lately to want to find my way back into my cell, no matter how comfortable it is.”

Will shifted. “I have no intention of doing either. Not anymore.”

He had a long time to think about his life these past few weeks, coming to quite a few conclusions about what he wanted for his- their- future.  
“And why is that?” his head tilted to the side, intrigued by him as always. The action used to irritate him to no end, he used to hate being analyzed like a bug under a microscope, but now he couldn’t bring himself to be bothered by it.

“Well,” Will began, trying to find the best way to describe the way he has felt as of late. “I felt something change in me that night. Like I was cleansed in a way, in the blood of the dragon, and then reborn in the sea.”

“That’s quite poetic of you.” Hannibal’s lips twitched in a smirk.

“And I realized something, in all these years.”  
“What’s that?”

“I don’t want to be separated from you again.”

Will didn’t speak it, but the realization he had come to these past weeks, hell, these past years still made its way into his thoughts. _I think I love you._ _I’m in love with you._

Hannibal took a sip of his wine, a contemplative look on his face, before speaking again. “Even when I kill again?”

Not if. When.

Will shrugged. He thought of that question often these past few weeks. “I wasn’t lying. Killing with you was… beautiful. I can’t know the future for certain, and I don’t know how I will feel seeing you kill someone who wasn’t a bad person like him, but… I don’t think I would want to stop you either.” his final words were no more than a whisper, a terrifying omission to even himself, though he found no fault or lie within it.

Hannibal pursed his lips, taking the final sip of wine before standing gracefully, his white dress shirt and slacks not so much as even a wrinkle out of place. “Thank you, Will. This conversation has been enlightening.”  
“What does that mean?” his tone came out harsher than he meant for it to be but it was the first decent conversation in weeks, and the man was going to end it there?

“It means I still do not trust you, though I do forgive you.”

Will looked away again, fighting the urge to stop the man as he walked across the deck and back into the cabin, the shut of the door sounding so final in its soft click it left no more room for discussion.

There was nothing left for him in this life except for Hannibal. Will couldn’t for the life of him imagine going back. Going back to Wolf Trap held no appeal anymore. What was there? Working for Jack until his mind finally breaks? His pack? His wife and son? He loved them, but not in the same way he loved Hannibal. Molly would take care of the dogs, they’d have a good life with her and really what more could he ask for. And she was strong, resilient; she would move on eventually and have a good life too, one that was better suited for her than being with a man like him. These past three weeks with Hannibal were far better than the past three years without him even though they weren’t speaking. It was just being near, having his conjoined twin close again where he could see him at every turn. It made him think of what it would have been like had he ran away with him and Abigail, how different his life would be. It left an ache in his heart and lump in his throat. 

  
  
  


The night passed so slowly it was unbearable. His whiskey had long since run out, only having half a bottle to begin with. As he stared at the empty bottle, he noted it was the same brand he and Margot had shared so long ago before sleeping together. Before he lost his first and only biological child. 

Alcohol could make him feel a certain way sometimes, he thought as he rolled his shoulders, looking out into the now dark sea and sky. The moon offered light, casting the surroundings in a silvery sheen like something out of a dream. The humid night air was sticky against his skin, urging him on, not quite what it was in Louisiana but humid all the same.

Alcohol didn’t make him mean or angry, at most, it made him a little sad on occasion. No, alcohol usually makes him feel limber, loose, a heat burning in his abdomen unlike that that came from the whiskey. Margot Verger was nowhere near the first person he had too much to drink with and woke up in bed with them the next day. 

Will’s mind drifted like the waves around him, hand reaching down to languidly stroke over his groin through his pants. He wasn’t hard, but there was the potential to be, a low hum in his veins, a buzz in every move he made.

He wondered what Hannibal would do if he walked into the cabin, sat down on his cot that he used as a bed, and started touching himself in front of him. Would he watch? Give in and touch? Ignore him completely? No, if he knew Hannibal at all, he wouldn’t ignore him.

Slowly he began unbuttoning his shirt- Hannibal’s shirt- that he was borrowing, eyes squeezed shut tight enough he could almost believe it was him instead. One of his hands reached up, winding tightly into his mess of unruly dark curls while the other ran through his sparse chest hair, finding his nipple to tweak at the sensitive nub until he shuddered at his own touch before turning his attention to the other. He wanted Hannibal to do this to him, to pull on his hair and mercilessly tease him until he begged to get on with it. In lieu of the man himself, Will settled to do it himself, pinching and rubbing until his back spasmed, arching up into the sensation. 

_What kind of lover is Hannibal?_

Based on what he knew of the man, Will doubted he’d be anything less than cruel, the kind that would torture him until he was satisfied. The fantasy excited him to no end. He wanted him to absolutely wreck him, take what he wanted when he wanted it as he did with everything else in life, the endless look of curiosity on his face at his reactions. God, he felt like he was on fire just thinking about it.

Will’s mouth fell open in a silent moan, panting harder as his pants grew tighter. Working the button on his slacks, he slipped his hand inside, massaging clumsily over his briefs when a terrible, undoubtedly stupid idea entered his head.

He couldn’t convince Hannibal he could be trusted but it wouldn’t hurt to try and show him how loyal he was to him now.

Will stared up at the sky, arousal thrumming as he contemplated the thought. A certain nervousness curled in his heart but his desire won out in the end. He stood with a start, not even attempting to fix his disheveled appearance as he stalked towards the cabin.

The door creaked as it swung open loud enough that Hannibal was sure to be awake.

Will crept in, following the wall in the darkness, the single window illuminating only the vague silhouettes of the room in a silver glow. When he stopped in front of the man’s cot, Hannibal rolled over, propping himself up on his elbow. He was wearing the ridiculous silk pajamas that he had stashed on the boat, unwilling to sacrifice the smallest luxury even while on the run.

“Will?”

Will just hummed softly in answer, pulling his shirt the rest of the way off and gracefully fell to his knees, bracing himself on the cot. Peeling back the blankets, Hannibal let him guide his legs off the cot, sitting up without question. He was sure if there was more light in the room, he’d have a knowingly look on his face, a coy smirk as if he planned for this to happen. Maybe he had, Will conceded, he really didn’t care anymore.

“I feel as though I should ask how much you’ve had to drink,” he said fondly, Will’s eyes slipping closed as his hand gently ran through his hair, stroking it back tenderly. He couldn’t stop himself from pushing against the hand, silently asking for more.

“Not a lot,” Will answered just as quietly, hooking his fingers underneath the silk waistband of his pants. He was pleased to note he lacked a shirt when his knuckles brushed against the soft skin of his sides before pulling his pants down, letting them fall around his ankles.

He had never touched another man before, uncertainty stalling his movements. He glanced up, unsure what he was supposed to do next. Hannibal sensed his hesitation, carding his fingers through his hair again before taking hold. It wasn’t demanding or pushing, just a light hold that offered comfort, reassuring.

It was so quiet in the room a pin could be dropped and would sound like an explosion. Only the sounds of their breathing filled the room, tense, and waiting.

Hesitantly he wrapped a hand around his soft cock, massaging at his member experimentally. He figured he must have done something right when it gave an involuntary twitch, a rigid feeling slowly filling the soft muscle.

Will let out the breath he had been holding, taking his hand away to lay against his slightly spread thighs and leaned in, trying to think back to how his past lovers did it for him. His tongue darted out, a kitten lick testing the waters. Whatever it was he was expecting, this was not it. His cock tasted like skin, the hint of something muskier underneath.

Will licked a long stripe up the underside, tracing the veins up the shaft before sucking the head into his mouth. His cock was thick as it was, growing and hardening with every touch until he was fully erect. He traced his mouth down, curiously licking at his balls before going back up, pleased with the low sounds that tumbled from Hannibal above him.

Inspired by the low grunts, Will took more and more, bobbing down until the soft curls at the base of his cock almost brushed his nose. 

Hannibal used his hair to guide him, fucking his mouth in a rhythm. He reached down, freeing himself from his overly tight pants when suddenly Hannibal pulled his hair in an obvious warning, stilling him.

Will choked, pulling back with a wild panic when he couldn’t breathe for a second. Hannibal let him go, his thumb finding the back of Will’s hand on his thigh, stroking over it soothingly. 

“Are you alright?” Hannibal asked, sympathetic but no apology to be heard. He meant to do it, Will knew that for certain, he was probably amused by choking him even. Bastard.

Will suppressed a cough as he struggled to get ahold of himself though he nodded all the same, knowing Hannibal would be able to sense the movement even in the dark. Running a hand across his mouth, he wiped the spit from his lips, taking a moment to breathe.

Leaning back down, he took him back in his mouth, swirling his tongue over the head before bobbing back down, careful not to go too far again.

“You can get yourself off but keep your hands on me.”

His voice had no right being that sexy. Will shivered, confused as to how he was supposed to do that exactly when he made the connection.

Buster was the one who did it the most often out of his pack. The unfixed dog would often find his leg while he was watching tv or working on his lures, humping erratically until Will knocked him off.

His face erupted in flames, skin burning at what the man was asking of him. He could see his sharp smile in the small light cast by the window, Hannibal extending his leg between Will’s knees, shin brushing his ignored erection. 

He kept his hands on his thighs as he was told, sucking him off as Will gave a testing thrust against his leg. The silk pajamas were too smooth, too silky and dry. He groaned, muffled around his cock as precum soaked a wet spot, giving him a small relief but not enough. 

Hannibal increased the pace, guiding his head down quicker and quicker, the quiet grunts growing into soft moans.

“I’m close,” he whispered, loosening his hold on Will, letting him take back control of his actions so he had the chance to back up, pull away and let Hannibal cum somewhere other than his mouth. 

Will didn’t stop, keeping the intense bobbing and sucking until Hannibal’s hip twitched in an aborted thrust, control slipping as he came. Will swallowed the best he could, some dripping down his chin. Hannibal breathed hard above him as if he had just ran a marathon, he could feel his eyes on him though Will tried to concentrate on what he was currently doing so he didn’t choke again.

Finally, Hannibal gently guided him off, waiting no time in rubbing his leg against Will yet again, pressing firmly into him. 

Will whined pathetically, hips grating against his leg wildly, staring up at Hannibal’s barely discernible face in the darkness.

“Good boy,” he purred breathlessly, tilting his head back further by the death grip he had renewed in his hair.

Will gulped, long throat exposed and vulnerable in the position. He could still see the way Hannibal had ripped out the dragon's throat with his teeth, the wild look in his eye at the kill. It only excited him more. He could kill him like this, wouldn’t even put it past him to do such a thing even if they were having sex. But he wouldn’t. Will knew he couldn’t, not really. They would either live together or die together, not one or the other.

The smooth silk fabric wasn’t enough, even with the pressure from his leg. He reached between his legs, barely having time to take himself in his hand when his hair was yanked harshly again. 

“Fuck,” Will whined in protest.

“No.” Hannibal snapped, accent thick. “You’ll come how I allow you too.”

Will nodded frantically until he relaxed his hold, letting him go back to rutting against his leg.

It was a slow, filthy grind, Hannibal’s eyes boring into him as if he could see him clearly- his shame, desire, arousal all of it laid bare for him.

“I can- I can’t,” Will breathed desperately after what felt like hours had passed.

“Then ask properly.” He spoke as if it was the easiest thing in the world to do.

The demand made his cock jump, face burning at what Hannibal wanted him to say, embarrassment curdling inside him. 

“Hannibal.”

The man just hummed, sounding just as put together as ever as if he hadn’t just come down Will’s throat; like Will wasn’t humping his leg like a damn dog and begging to come.

“Please.”

“Please what?” he asked as if he didn’t know.

Will whined again, digging his nails into the meat of the man’s thigh. “Can I touch myself?”

“If I said no?” His voice was like honey, smooth, and suffocating. “Would you behave?”

“Yes,” tears threaten to spill from the corner of his eyes. He didn’t want him to say no but he would, anything Hannibal asked of him he’d do it. “Yes anything you want me to do I will.”

He hoped that devotion was returned. 

“Will, you darling boy,” his soft, sweet touch was back, stroking his cheek. “Go ahead.”

His approval was all he needed. Like a feral animal Will growled, fisting his cock. He stroked himself quickly, precum slicking the dry slide of his hand over his overheated skin. 

Will looked up at Hannibal, locking eyes as he jerked himself off for him. 

It was too much after being not enough for so long.

Cum splattered over the silk and fist that never stopped, working himself over and through the aftershocks that rocked his whole body, seeing stars behind closed eyes and mouth stuck in an open, silent moan.

Slowly his shoulders relaxed, spine unfurling and muscles unclenching as his hand stilled. He looked up through his lashes, meeting Hannibal’s eyes in the darkness once again. 

_Now what?_

Will waited expectantly for Hannibal to give some sign as to what came next, but the man only pulled his pajamas back up from his ankles to where they belong. 

“Hannibal?”

He felt… lost. With his desire sated and the alcohol waning, he wanted- _needed_ \- something, anything from him to guide him into what to do next. Was he supposed to go back to his own cot? Try to fit in with Hannibal?

“Come here, Will. You’re thinking far too much,” Hannibal cooed.

Will melted, barely remembering to slide his pants all the way off and fix his underwear before crawling into the cot with him that was barely meant for one grown man, much less two. 

Resting his head on Hannibal’s chest, he could make out the faint _thump-thump_ of his heartbeat beneath his skin, cheek resting on soft chest hair. It was so different than the past women he had been with, so different from his wife, and yet he couldn’t imagine anything feeling as perfect as it did now. Hannibal’s arms wrapped around his back, stroking absentmindedly with their legs tangling together.

This is where he’s meant to be.


	2. Taking things a little far

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will wakes up drugged and alone and realizes that he is not the only one who will have to work to earn trust in their new budding relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do I know where this is going? Vaguely. Am I really just listening to Hell and You by Amigo the Devil over and over for inspiration? 100% It is a really good song if you want to give it a listen!

Will groaned, scrunching his eyes shut against the morning light pouring in from the window and into the cabin of the boat. His hand blindly reached up, trying to block the sunlight and steady himself all at once.

The constant bobbing of the water beneath him did nothing to aid the whiskey in his stomach, threatening to roar up in his stomach and make a reappearance. 

His head throbbed, hurting so bad he could hardly think clearly enough through the pain to stumble over to the bathroom before he lost the alcohol, barely thinking to shove the door closed behind him in a small act of privacy.

This was it, he thought. Of all the times he’s nearly met death, what was going to kill him was being hungover on a constantly moving boat. 

Will had half a mind to lay down on the bathroom floor and go back to sleep, and for a second indulged in those desires, laying down against the smooth hardwood floors, staring at the bobbing ceiling through the nausea. He didn’t think he had drank  _ that  _ much but he supposed it was possible. It had been a while since his last drink of something as strong as whiskey after all, maybe his tolerance had weaned.

He thought better of laying on the bathroom floor after what felt like an eternity, having to haul himself up to the sink to brush his teeth, clutching on to the cold porcelain for dear life. 

In the mirror, he certainly looked worse for wear. His eyes looked brighter without the bags underneath, beard coming in thicker by the day, hair, already a bird’s nest from the humidity, was even worse after such an amazing sleep, something he hadn’t had in a long, long time. Something about being pressed so closely against Hannibal though, alcohol or not, kept the nightmares at bay. Still, his skin was pasty, clammy, pupils blown wide as he stared himself down, a sheen of sweat on his forehead and looking particularly unsteady like a newborn deer.

Will paused. Hadn’t he been alone when he awoke? Where was Hannibal?

He couldn’t remember, the desperation to release the whiskey from his stomach taking hold of his thoughts since he had woken up.

He rinsed quickly, bracing himself on the door as he pulled it open. As he suspected, the cot he and Hannibal had shared was empty, as was the cabin itself, Hannibal nowhere to be seen.

Will shrugged it off, figuring he was on the deck as usual. The man was the definition of a morning person, always sipping his coffee and watching the sunrise on the horizon while Will tried desperately to sleep in.

He made his way over to the suitcase that Hannibal managed to have stashed away on the boat before they took off. He wasn’t sure how the man had managed to have an entire boat prepared with spare clothes to boot, but Will wasn’t in the business of questioning him any more. Hannibal was not an ordinary man that could be questioned.

He ruffled through the clothes, pulling out one of the shirts he often wore these days. It was a simple navy blue polo, the least dressy shirt he could find in the mess of expensive cotton and satin and some slacks. Of course, Hannibal didn’t have normal clothes to wear out on the ocean like shorts but the fabric was soft and comfortable so he didn’t complain much.

The clothes were a size or two bigger than what he needed, hanging off of his body in strange ways, baggy and boxy and unflattering but it wasn’t as if Hannibal hadn’t seen him worse states of disarray. Besides, the clothes were particularly comforting this morning, leaving him room to breathe in the fabric.

He couldn’t stop the twitch of his lips as he folded the blanket they had used up, thinking that maybe he’d go join him on the deck and suck him off again later when he didn’t feel like he was going to die if he moved too fast anymore. Once they went to Florence or wherever it was that Hannibal was taking them maybe he’d fix him a nice dinner as an official first date. Or at least provide the meat.

Grinning softly to himself he drifted out of the cabin ready to greet Hannibal.

Shocked, he froze where he stood, dumbfounded.

When had they gotten to land? When had they docked?

How late in the day was it? How had he slept through all of that?

Questions swarmed his head as he walked around the deck, peering out into the marina. He couldn’t even tell where he was anymore, the sun too bright and dizzying as if he were about to faint. A few people on nearby yachts and boats gave him strange looks at his panicked running, bracing himself against the rails to keep from falling over, a queasy feeling in his stomach once again though no one said anything which was for the best.

Waking up sick, disorientated, and distinctly not where he had fallen asleep geographically, and not knowing where Hannibal was when  _ they were on the run _ left him discombobulated, like he was the buoy floating not far off from the dock.

Hannibal had left him there. Will shook his head in disbelief, all but throwing himself down into the chair he had so stupidly drank his whiskey in the previous night.

He supposed as he thought about it, this was probably a test, one of many he was going to have to pass. The man was in all likelihood giving him a chance to run.

Will groaned, head throbbing when a strange thought entered his mind.

He refused to believe it, trying to find a different way to make sense of it all, but each string of thought led back to the idea, the prickle at the back of his neck and a feeling in his gut telling him to follow it through.

_ Surely not _ , he thought desperately.  _ Hannibal wouldn’t drug me after… _

But this was no hangover. He hadn’t drunk enough to be hungover.

With a snarl, he pulled back his sleeve, searching the juncture of his elbow for even the smallest sign of a needle. When he saw nothing on his left arm, he moved on to the right. Much to his chagrin, just over his vein was a hole, so small it was near invisible against his skin.

“Jesus fucking,” he growled angrily, shutting his eyes tight when the movement of his anger sent another sickening twist in his stomach. 

He was going to kill him when he came back.  _ If  _ he came back.

Hannibal didn’t seem like the kind of man to drug him and leave him, at least not when it came to Will.  _ No,  _ he thought.  _ We’re too tangled together for him to leave me. _

But he had drugged Bedelia and left her in Florence. He had drugged Miriam Lass and left her for Jack to find.

Was he going to be the same?

Will was suddenly sick to his stomach for an entirely different reason. 

  
  
  


The sun was setting low on the horizon when Will heard the footsteps, a steady thump of a shoe out on the deck above. 

Will didn’t move from the kitchen where he was finishing his dinner against the cabinet, too angry to sit down. If it was Hannibal, he would be in for it, Will having all day for his anger to simmer into something more akin to hurt, the urge to kill the man burning down to a minimum. Still, he had some thoughts on his actions, and he was going to share and Hannibal was going to listen. If it wasn’t him though, an intruder on their temporary home since Hannibal had so thoughtfully left them in a very popular marina, he would have to kill them. His anxiety had been through the roof all day, waiting as if the police were going to barge in at any moment and arrest him.

Sure enough, it was Hannibal, walking loudly to announce his presence to his new partner in crime. He walked down the stairs and into the cabin as if nothing had happened.

“Good afternoon, Will,” he smiled pleasantly though Will didn’t respond. He didn’t so much as turn his back in acknowledgment to the man.

Hannibal stopped at the table, setting whatever he had with him down onto the tabletop in the pregnant silence. “You’re angry.”

Will hummed. “An understatement.”

“Forgive me-” he began apologetically.

Will rudely interrupted, snapping “no.” 

Satisfied with the disgruntled shift in the air, Will finally turned, granting Hannibal his attention. He was dressed immaculately, as usual, donning a light summer suit, not a hair out of place. He had a look of regret in his dark eyes that Will wanted to sneer at, knowing it was fake. A show. He knew when and if Hannibal actually felt something, and this was not one of those times.

“Will,” he chastised. “There’s no need to be rude.”

Will raised his eyebrows. “And drugging someone before having sex with them isn’t rude? I’d dare say that is a heinous crime myself, Hannibal. Or is that not above the Chesapeake Ripper?”

It was a low blow, but it hit all the same. The regrettable look on his face turned genuine. It was a minute difference but Will could see the change, the subtle shift in his eyes.

“I would never do that to you, Will. You must realize that even in your righteous anger. Did you feel drugged last night?”

He knew the answer was no. He had spent the entire day working on a timeline in his head, trying to find when the man would have drugged him. Hannibal had waited until he was asleep; until he was more vulnerable. 

“So you drugged me after I bared myself to you,” Will snapped at the omission, like an animal going in for the kill after the prey had been cornered. The hurt he felt bled through his tone, giving himself away.

Hannibal let out a soundless sigh, keeping his distance despite Will knowing he had the urge to invade his space as he always did. 

“Yes, I did,” he gave a small nod.   
“Yet I am the one who needs to earn trust in this relationship?” Will pushed himself away from the cabinet, taking a step towards the man. 

Hannibal was not a man who flinched, but he was more alert when Will prowled closer, readying himself for whatever the unpredictable man would hurl at him. Instead of an outright attack though, Will leaned in close, trapping him against the table with his arms. “Why? Did you do it to hurt me? See my reaction?”

He knew it would hurt even more if the answer was yes. He thought them to be passed that part in their relationship by three years at least.   
“Despite our past,” Hannibal placed his hand on his hip, drawing him closer with an air of caution. “I do not wish to see you in pain anymore.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Will,” Hannibal cupped his cheek, running his thumb through the thick beard that now grew after weeks of not shaving. “You are beautiful in pain, I won’t lie to you about that. But I am done trying to intentionally cause that pain.”

“Then why?”

He couldn’t help but lean into the touch, the insatiable urge to be with him even now.

“I went to get us some things,” Hannibal suddenly twisted away, leaving Will leaning into nothing. He reached around for the bag, offering it in between them. “Passports, cash, and plane tickets.”

Will took the bag, opening it up though he knew Hannibal wasn’t lying. True to his word, two blue booklets were tucked away neatly to the side, the blue and white strips of plane tickets sticking out the tops of them. There was more cash in the middle of the bag than Will had probably ever seen in his life, save for his time as a cop in Louisiana after drug busts. He stuck his hand inside, pushing the stacks of hundreds to the side, a question obvious in his exploration of the bag.

“I did not want you asking questions, so I did what I thought was best.” Hannibal smiled, tight-lipped, and thin.

Will glared up at him, anger returning with new heat to it. “And simply asking me to stay put would have been too much.”

“Naturally,” Hannibal smiled more genuinely. 

Will never wanted to punch him more. 

“You’re incorrigible,” he reached up, grabbing hold of the collar of Hannibal’s suit. “If you do it again, I won’t be so forgiving.”

“So you do forgive me then?” Hannibal teased, taking Will’s hand from his shirt and into his own.

“No,” Will muttered, suddenly aware of just how close they were. Avoiding Hannibal’s eyes, he looked straight in front of him, ending up focusing on his mouth just inches away from him.

“So I cannot convince you to drop the knife?”

Will grinned, all teeth. The steak knife from his dinner tucked away in his back pocket the moment he turned to face Hannibal.

He was once again faced with another test. He hadn’t been sure what had possessed him to take the knife, or if he would have even used it. It reminded him of the time in the kitchen when Hannibal had given him a knife after he claimed to have killed Freddie Lounds. He could attack him, give in to what Hannibal expected from him and try to kill him for the umpteenth time.

Instead, Will leaned up on the balls of his feet, pressing his lips against Hannibal’s sweetly. It was chaste, no tongue or heat but giving in to the soft longing that was long overdue, building between them for years now. All too soon Will pulled away, opening his eyes to find Hannibal doing the same, face unreadable as always.

Will pulled away completely, detangling himself from the man and walking over to the sink to deposit the knife. “Where are we going? When?”

“We leave tomorrow,” Hannibal answered without missing a beat, going on as if nothing had happened. “Cuba if you’ll have it. Then after a few weeks, we will depart for Europe. I still have the indescribable urge to show you Florence. Properly this time, perhaps without bloodshed between us.”

Will knew neither of them could promise that. It was mutually assured destruction at the point they were at now though.

“Why Cuba?” Will asked conversely.

“I have a house there that I suspect the FBI never found.”

Will frowned. “We did find a house in Cuba.”

Hannibal hummed. “So you didn’t find the second?”

They had suspected him to have more properties than what was found but eventually gave up the cold search. His silence gave Hannibal his answer, looking entirely too pleased with himself, a small smirk quirking his lips, knowing he had outwitted the FBI yet again and he was enjoying it.

“I also thought,” Hannibal continued. “If Jack suspects either of us to be alive in the slightest, we should use some more time before trying for Europe.”

Will nodded. It was a sensible plan, he just wished he had been included in it.

“Can I ask you something?” Hannibal pondered. “What exactly were your plans with that knife?”

Will smiled. “That, Hannibal, decided entirely on your answers.”

  
  
  


He was being reborn as the wendigo again but something was different. This time he was laying on a beach, coughing out salty water onto the jagged edges of the rocks beneath him, jutting into his body sharply.

The pain in his head was splitting, a throbbing agonizing stab behind his eyes as the horns grew out of his head. They grew towards the tree line, reaching for the heavens, fueled on by his agonizing screams.

His body was being ripped apart on the inside, he could feel his organs being crushed and devoured by what was growing inside of him. His bones snapped, cracking and breaking under the new strain.

The wendigo, Hannibal, stood watching with soulless black eyes on a boulder. 

Will wailed his name, begging him to make it stop but it didn’t move, watching his final transformation.

His skin began to split, blood pooling as pieces began to melt off, hitting the rock underneath him with a thick slap, exposed muscle and sinew throbbing at the exposed air, the pain of the salty water only adding. At first he attempted to hold it on, keeping the skin over the exposed wounds in hopes it would stay before he ultimately gave up trying to hold himself together, letting the last bit of skin fall.

When he reached up, fumbling to feel at his face, he caught sight of what was his new skin. Skin that was at first grayish and then a solid, pitch-black like the darkness brimming inside him. He touched the corners of his eyes, knowing they were the same ghoulish white as the stag’s boring into him.

It was done. It was no half transformation as it had been in the past, there was no going back from this.

“Will.”

“Will.”

“Will!”

Will woke with a gasp, sitting up quickly and grabbing the wrist of the hand on his chest in a crushing grip, pulling the limb from his body as he panted, eyes searching the darkness wildly. 

Hannibal was leaning above him, hand slick with Will’s sweat. If he looked hard enough he could see the shadow of antlers growing out of Hannibal’s shadow cast on the wall.

Of course, the one causing his nightmares would be there to comfort him after.

“You were having a nightmare,” Hannibal explained as if Will didn’t already know that, making no move to pull his wrist away. Will slackened his grip but didn’t drop it fully, still holding on to it like it was the only thing tethering him to this earth anymore.

“You were calling for me.” 

Will fell back against his pillow with a sigh, trying his best to gather himself and catch his breath. He suddenly wished he had his glasses. His vision wasn’t that bad, not so much he couldn’t see well enough without them, but they were like a shield. If he had them, he could throw them on and hide behind them; hide from Hannibal’s searching eyes endlessly trying to make contact with his own.

Molly had learned early on in their relationship to leave him alone after a nightmare. After he had snapped angrily at her and punished himself for yelling at her by sleeping on the couch for a week. Before he finally broke down and explained to her why these dreams set him so on edge.

Will pushed him away so he could sit up fully and strip his shirt away, using the few dry parts to wipe at his forehead and chest before tossing it haphazardly into the floor. Hannibal grimaced at the action but didn’t comment.

He tried to roll over and go back to sleep, but Hannibal caught him, keeping him upright. When it was clear Will was unwilling to elaborate on what his dream was about, Hannibal spoke again just as quietly and soothing. “You should go shower, Will. You’ll feel much better.”

He wanted to be childish. To petulantly lay back down anyways and go back to sleep as he always did and ignore unsettling deja vu. It was so similar to how it had been when he was Hannibal’s patient. Hannibal taking care of Will who felt out of touch and unwhole, completely vulnerable to his manipulations.

There was something so caring in his voice though that gave Will a pause. He could detect the same genuineness in it that he had seen earlier, however fleeting it had been in the kitchen. 

“Okay,” he finally agreed quietly, not fighting Hannibal’s guiding hand on his lower back as they made their way to the small bathroom. Hannibal watching him turn on the water before finally shutting the door, giving him the privacy he desperately craved.

Will stripped out of his remaining clothes, not bothering to adjust the temperature before getting in.

The water was freezing, shocking him awake the last little bit as it slowly became lukewarm against his overheated back. He stood there, unmoving, for what felt like hours, mind blessedly quiet. 

A strange sense of tranquility entered his bones. All at once, it felt as if the energy had drained out of him yet he couldn’t bring himself to move just yet. He would soon, he promised himself, just not yet. He hoped the tiredness meant he could go back to sleep after this, but from past experience, that was a long shot.

When the lukewarm water even ran cold, he came out of the stupor, grabbing the soap and scrubbing the stench off of his skin that thankfully did not fall off and hair quickly. 

He got out, toweling off when he belatedly realized he had forgotten to grab a fresh change of clothes.

The thought of walking out naked in front of Hannibal was entirely unappealing though. He wasn’t in the mood for whatever happened between them last night to make a reoccurrence, not after his show of trust had been so thoroughly disregarded. Maybe in the future, maybe when they settled into their new lives in Cuba, after Hannibal proved himself to be just as trustworthy in their relationship as Will. If the strange, avant-garde relationship they were forming was to continue, there could be no more manipulation, no more lies or sins of omission, because neither had anything left outside of the relationship. The only thing left to loose was each other.

He dressed in the same underwear and pants that he had started the night out in, ignoring the sweat-dampened drag of the fabric over his clean skin. It was better than nothing.

Finally, he braced himself, opening the door and stepping out into the main room.

“I took the liberty of changing your bedding for you,” Hannibal stood fully from where he was making the final adjustments when he noticed Will approaching. He wrinkled his nose when he noticed he had shrugged on the same dirty pajamas he had worn to bed but didn’t say anything about it yet again, giving Will a pass for tonight.

“Thanks,” Will tried to smile but the quirks of his lips fell flat in a way even he could tell. He hoped he knew he meant it just from his tone.

Hannibal nodded, crossing the room to his own cot and settled down into the blankets once again.

Will stood, silently watching him for a moment, jaw clenched, biting back words that even he didn’t know what they were.

“You can always sleep on my cot with me,” Hannibal spoke softly, the only hint that that course of action was what he wanted by the soft uptick in his voice.

Will contemplated it. He had slept amazingly last night, wrapped up in the man like a boa constrictor, but that could have just been a side effect of whatever it was the good doctor had thought to inject him with.

“I would rather not wake up drugged again, Hannibal,” he decided, speaking quietly and sitting down on his own cot with finality to his movements.

As if sleeping across the room would do anything to stop him, but it gave him a false sense of security all the same.

The air was tense. 

“I understand.” Hannibal conceded. “If it is any consolation, I regret my actions. I’m sorry, Will.”

Will didn’t answer. He wanted it so badly he hurt. He desperately wanted to get up and crawl into Hannibal’s cot, to feel the same sense of safety and security as he did last night. Perhaps it was his last shred of self-preservation that stopped him, turning his back to the man and hugging the blankets tightly as if he could replicate the feeling without him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think and add me on Twitter! I promise the chapters will start to get longer, they are only so short right now because I don't want to make the pacing weird


	3. you couldn't name a place I wouldn't go with you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't like this chapter but its the best I got lol

Will was panicking and the fact that Hannibal was entirely calm, cool, and collected was as reassuring as it was frustrating.

The airport was surprisingly busy, people milling around every place he looked and setting Will more and more on edge on his first venture into public after the fall by the second. Paranoia was not a new feeling for him by any means, but he still wasn’t used to it, glancing over his shoulder every few steps, startling at the smallest sound and half expecting for the FBI to storm the place and arrest them both on the spot.

Hannibal carried their single bag between them, smiling pleasantly throughout the airport as if it was nothing for them to be there. As if he wasn’t a known cannibalistic serial killer. As if he and Will hadn't killed a man together before disappearing.

No, he smiled like there wasn’t a single thing wrong, an arm wrapped behind Will’s back, hand resting on his side as he guided him towards their terminal looking like every bit of the calm, somewhat friendly rich man he posed to be.

“Hannibal,” Will whined, looking down and away from the security cameras, the guards and police. Even the TSA agents were making him nervous. He knew Hannibal had done this before when it was known that he was alive no less, and had made it out of the country then. Now that they were thought to be dead, it should be even easier. Still, he needed to hear the reassurance, to know one or both of them were not about to end up back in the BSHCI.

Will was not a selfish man. He willingly gave up anything and everything for the greater good, the thought of saving lives driving him to look at things he’d rather never have seen until his mind broke. He wouldn’t be doing it again. The selfish part of him had finally won out. He would rather die than go back to his old life without Hannibal no matter how mad he was with him still or one trapped in a cell once again.

“Will,” Hannibal stopped, pulling them to the side so they were not in the way of the flow of people, grabbing Will’s shoulders, seeing the way the man was spiraling clear as day. They stared at each other, Will searching his brown eyes and only finding reassurance, his soft tone and actions comforting. “Breathe. We are presumed dead, I highly doubt anyone will be looking for us.”

“Jack,” Will supplied unhelpfully. “If you really think he’s just going to accept that we’re dead without proof-“

Hannibal stopped him gently, squeezing gently on his shoulder before Will could continue. “If he were, there is a very small probability anyone will recognize us and report it to him.”

Will supposed that was true. His beard was extremely thick, obscuring most of the lower half of his face. He’d shave it off once they got to Cuba, same as Hannibal who now sported facial hair. Both of their hair was longer now, Will’s curling around his neck and Hannibal’s grown out from the short cut it had been in the mental institution.

“The passports will work just fine I promise you. No one will doubt a single thing.”

“And you’re so sure of that how?” 

Will knew, but he looked up at Hannibal, admiring his chin and cheekbones, needing to hear it from him.

“I got them from the same person who gave me the ones to get me over to Florence with Bedelia, a good man who owed me more than a few favors.”

It made him feel better to hear that bit of information out loud. Hannibal had done this before, he repeated to himself. If he couldn’t trust him with being intimate, he could at least trust him not to get caught.

They passed by the cheap commercial gift shops, hundreds of people gathering around, buying gifts for their friends and family back home,  _ Georgia  _ wrote in bright yellows and obnoxious oranges on cheap shirts sold for even more of an obnoxious price.

He kept close against Hannibal still as they continued on, not even minding the way he had his arm around his waist again or how close they were as they walked. 

2 hours and 16 minutes. Then they would be starting a new life, one with no tethers to their old lives. He did feel a small jolt of melancholy watching their boat sink in the early hours of the morning while the marina slept just a mere few hours ago. That boat had become their home, for however short. It was sad knowing the place they had spent day in and day out was gone for good.

Hannibal would probably say he was projecting his feelings about losing their homes and lives back in Baltimore and Wolf Trap onto the boat. He would probably be right, but the sentiment stood.

“Sir!”

Will froze stalk still at the voice. He did not even want to turn around to see who had shouted at them, but Hannibal was already ahead of him, turning around with his arm falling from his waist and leaving a cold feeling in its wake.

“Excuse me!” the man shouted again, voice gruff. He was close by, too close for comfort.

Will turned, following Hannibal with his eyes as he stood with an expectant look on his face.

The man was short, stalky, and wore a bright smile on his face, cheeks still burnt from his vacation. His posture was relaxed, with no recognition on his face or any telltale signs he recognized them. He wanted a favor, Will knew from his empathy, able to read the man like a children’s book.

“You two seem nice, do you mind taking a picture of me and my family for us? Its a family reunion, we just want one last picture with everyone in it before we leave,” he smiled so brightly he could rival the sun. “If you aren’t too busy!” he quickly spoke with a thick southern accent. “I know how hectic it is trying to catch a flight.”

Will relaxed, shoulders dropping as the fear left his body quickly.

Hannibal gave a small smile of his own, not missing a beat. “Of course, not a problem.”   
Will suppressed the urge to roll his eyes, offering his own fake smile and nod at the man when he looked to him for confirmation.

Hannibal was enjoying this, Will knew it without a doubt. He spent far too long with the family, getting the perfect picture for them. They could be boarding by now. In fact, they had only ten minutes to get to their gate, but Hannibal took his sweet time, smiling graciously at the handful of thanks that were shouted his way as he walked back to Will.

“You did that on purpose,” Will growled. “You know I’m anxious and you think it’s amusing.”   
Hannibal wrapped his arm around his waist, pulling him in close in a way that left Will helpless but to follow. “Only a little. Come, we shouldn’t miss our flight, else we might have to stay here even longer.”

That time Will did roll his eyes, starting them on a quick pace towards their gate, Hannibal following with long strides just a step behind.

Thankfully, the gate was not far, though their section had already boarded since it was first class.

Will quickly guided them into the line, not speaking a word to his companion.

Hannibal went first, a show that Will could trust him as he handed over his flight pass and his new passport to the stewardess. She did her job, scanner in her hands beeping before handing both documents back with a lovely smile. “Enjoy your flight, sir.”

Hannibal nodded, walking ahead and into the long hallway leading towards the plane, waiting patiently.

Will held his breath, doing the same, unsurprised when he received the same kind words without any suspicion raised.

“See?” Hannibal smiled when he caught up to him in the terminal. “Without a hitch, as you would say.”

Will couldn’t help the snort that left him, mildly hysteric at the fact that it had in fact, gone without a hitch. “I enjoy the fact that you speak more and more like me by the day. You almost sound like a normal person.”

They reached the end of the blue walls, the shiny white exterior of the plane now in front of them with steps leading up to it.

It felt good, each step holding a sense of finality to it.

“And I suppose when you speak as I do, you sound less normal?” Hannibal asked, gracefully climbing aboard the plane, pausing just long enough for Will to follow.

“Most people do not speak solely in riddles and proper English,” Will explained, allowing Hannibal to be the one to find their seats for them.

The walkway was cramped, people blocking the isles to stuff outrageous amounts of belongings into the overhead bins, offering small bursts of apology every so often before finally taking their seat and allowing them to continue.

Hannibal hummed, the softest of smiles gracing his lips and reaching his eyes. He came to a stop and held an arm out, indicating for Will to take a seat.

He had never flown first class before, but it always looked like a dream. He didn’t have to sit overly close to anyone, plenty of legroom, comfy seats. As he sat down he couldn’t help but wonder why he had never invested that little bit of extra money and bought the tickets, it would have been worth it.

“Enjoying yourself?” Hannibal hummed, reading his mind as always.

There was an abundance of room even between the two seats. No reason for Hannibal to be invading his space, but his arm was resting against Will’s armrest, palm upturned just so. An invitation.

Will feigned ignorance. He was still angry about the day before, that was not going to change overnight no matter how pretty an apology Hannibal gave. The way he was holding him in the airport was only for show, he told himself. And, he could admit it had offered a modicum of comfort in such a crowded, public place.

“I am. I’ve never flown first class before,” Will smiled thinly.

“Well, I’m sorry that the trip is going to be so short. It is rather lovely to have time to drink wine and lounge while flying first class,” Hannibal took the initiative, taking Will’s hand in his own.

Before Will could protest, his eyes found lovely brown, rich pools looking to him in a way it felt as if they were the only people on the entire plane. It was the same doting expression of deep infatuation as always, a look of complete and utter fondness that made Will’s breath stop in his chest, lungs unable to expand properly. He wanted to drown in that look, in the rare glimpse of humanity in the monster that was Hannibal Lecter. They had tried once to diagnose the man as a psychopath, tried to say he lacked any empathy where Will was overflowing with it, no emotion hidden beneath the mask. Will knew the term was wrong for him from the minute it was uttered. He could feel the infatuation and tenderness towards him despite their past, or maybe because of it.

Will looked away, instead, focusing his attention on the workers loading suitcases in the southern heat outside the window, though he made no move to take his hand away.

Hannibal for once did not have anything to say, though Will could feel him psychoanalyzing him, reading him like a children’s book. Instead, he stroked his thumb over the back of his hand, threading their fingers together on the armrest.

By the time the plane actually took off after everyone was on and situated and the pilot gave her standard spill about planes, Will was exhausted. The long night coupled with the stress of the day so far left him leaning against the window, eyes half shut. It wasn’t comfortable by any means, not with the rattle of the walls with take off that made his teeth chatter but if it meant he could get some sleep on the way to Cuba, he’d gladly accept the creak in his neck from the angle.

“Will,” Hannibal spoke just as sleep was about to take him. “Lean on my shoulder.”

“Hmm?” Will scrunched his brow, not even opening his eyes. “No, I’m alright.”

“Your neck will stiffen.”   
Will deadpanned. “I’ve had worse. Much worse.”

“Come here, you stubborn boy,” Hannibal huffed.

Will didn’t fight the arm around his shoulder, pulling him against the man, too tired to protest.

The position was in all honesty, much, much more comfortable. Who was he to protest if Hannibal wanted to be his pillow? The overly gracious amounts of PDA today were odd, most likely an attempt to apologize for yesterday still, and for the moment he accepted it.

Will stretched, pressing his face against the juncture of Hannibal’s neck and shoulder, inhaling the scent he knew to be home. It was clean, soap and detergent, salty waters and Hannibal’s expensive, tasteful cologne he had worn as long as he had known him. It was a light smell, a small spritz to not aggravate the man’s sensitive nose. 

“Did you just smell me?” Hannibal teased lightly.

“Difficult to avoid,” Will snorted in return, recalling the weird interaction between them so many years ago. It stood out to him as one of the many moments Hannibal’s actions had been strange enough to stick with him all this time later. He could still remember the next time he used the aftershave that had been so offensive, staring down the little ship that decorated the top of the label and wondering what the hell each time after when he used it.

Will dozed intermittently, waking occasionally when Hannibal ordered wine or when the plane jostled some in the air. It wasn’t until Hannibal nudged him awake gently, urging him to buckle his seatbelt back before descent did he sit up, stretching like a languid cat. 

Their hands were still tangled together, now resting against Hannibal’s thigh. Will didn’t take it away immediately, still enjoying the warmth and contact offered by the simple touch.

“It seems you were able to sleep next to me without me sedating you in any way,” Hannibal jested, the smile he bore being the only indicator that he was in fact joking aside from the gleam in his eyes.

Will frowned groggily, still trying to wake up fully. “It does seem that way.”

“Now maybe the next time you experience a nightmare you might allow me to comfort you.” Hannibal sounded pleased, making Will bristle. He pulled his hand away then, confining himself into his own space quickly.

“There is a difference of trust between us when in public compared to private,” Will spoke in a hushed voice, scratching at the scruff on his jaw.

Hannibal studied him for a long time before agreeing eventually in an even tone. “I suppose there is.”

The silence was stifling, aching, even when the noise of the other passengers grew to a roar, bags, and carry-ons shuffling, voices growing louder by the second. Hannibal stood, taking their own bag down from the compartment and holding the isle for him, ever the gentlemen even when Will knew well and good that he had upset him, however small that feeling was for him.

Will almost apologized, the “I’m sorry” sitting on the tip of his tongue before he shut his mouth quickly. He didn’t have anything to apologize for, he convinced himself.

He set his jaw, pushing out of his seat and walking in front and leading the way off the plane.

The humidity hadn’t changed much, though the heat was much less heavy in Havana Cuba, more refreshing than in Georgia.

It did not feel as if the airport had air conditioning in some places, sweat quickly accumulating on his forehead and back. Even Hannibal, he noted, had a subtle sheen on his brow, giving away that the man was just as human as Will was.

Hannibal took the lead once again, leading him out one of the main doors, Will hot on his heels to keep up. 

Will took the time to take in his surroundings while Hannibal flagged down a taxi. The airport itself was brightly colored stark reds and bright patterns that caught his attention. For some reason, he thought Cuba would be brown and yellow like it was in the movies. A sepia-colored world. Instead, everything was clear, bright, and spectacularly beautiful.   
Will didn’t even attempt to listen to whatever it was that Hannibal had said to the taxi driver when he got in, too busy taking in the scenery. Some buildings were bright pastels, pinks, blues, and greens that made the tropical destination all the more beautiful. Others had old, Spanish architecture, rounded arches and columns that surrounded the streets, the hints of the ocean hidden just behind the palm trees in the distance. It felt similar to his short time in Europe when he had been hunting Hannibal, grieving, and unable to enjoy it. Now though, with the man at his side and the ache of Abigail’s death not as fresh, he was enraptured by the city.

“Have you ever left the country, Will?” Hannibal asked.

He could feel the man watching his every move, analyzing his awe and wonder at the new city, but Will couldn’t bring himself to care, ignoring him near completely in favor of staring out the window, unwilling to miss a single minute of it.

“No. My father and I weren’t well off so we didn’t travel when I was young,” Will spoke. “After college, I went straight into the police, I never had time. Not until Europe.”   
Hannibal gave a small nod. “And then I took up the majority of your time there.”

“Something like that,” Will agreed.

A thought struck him. He glanced at his companion over his shoulder briefly. “When was the last time you went home?”   
“I suppose you mean Lithuania,” Hannibal supplied. “Not since I was a child.”

“So you’ve yet to see the gift I left you,” Will gathered, looking back out the window. He could feel the surprised shift Hannibal made.

“Gift?”   
“I met a man there when I was looking for you who lived there with Chiyoh.”

Hannibal tensed, though he knew Will wouldn’t say anything incriminating in the presence of the driver.

The cab slowed to a stop in front of a beautiful looking home. It was small, smaller than the apartment complexes bordering it, but it was well kept, much like the other homes they had found connected to a Doctor Hannibal Lecter. The walls were white, a balcony on the second floor supported by the same Spanish columns he had seen before.

Hannibal thanked the driver, handing over cash for their ride and grabbing their bag once again, ushering Will out of the cab and towards the home.

It seemed as if the subject was dropped for the time being.

Hannibal produced a key from the bag that he had not noticed before, hidden in one of the few pockets on the side that he hadn’t felt the urge to look through.

Unlocking the door, the pair stepped in and for what felt like the first time since he had been pulled from the Atlantic, he breathed easily.

The decor of the house was similar to his house in Baltimore. It was if he was completely transported to a different place and time, an era that had closed on them long ago.

The inside house was dark, a stark comparison to the exterior just like Hannibal himself. Dark blue walls and white trim windows, a dark, luxurious couch in front of a fireplace as if that would be needed Cuba of all places. On the walls, there was his signature art. Will didn’t remember anything about art from the two classes he had in high school, but he did know the art was old, expensive, and well preserved. 

“No swans?” Will joked.

Hannibal’s lips twitched. “No. Sadly,  _ Leda and the Swan  _ is still at the house in Baltimore. Come, I’ll show you to your room.”

Will’s eyes lingered on the deer antlers mounted on the wall near the stairs, his heart suddenly stabbed with a deep hurt that coursed through his veins at the thought of his-their- daughter. She could have been there with them if Will had been complicit. If he had given in to what  _ he  _ wanted instead of what  _ Jack  _ demanded.

It had been so long ago, nearly four years, yet her absence left a crack in his heart, one that could never be fully mended even if time made the bright gut-wrenching pain dull into something more bearable. 

“Can we take those down?” He pointed.

Hannibal paused, glancing over at the deer antlers. 

“Of course,” his voice was compassionate as if he missed her just as much as Will did. But he didn’t have the right to miss her.

It filled him with a fit of white, hot anger.

“Don’t act as if you aren’t the reason she isn’t here,” he growled low in his chest.

A warning.

They hadn’t broached the topic of Abigail. Of Hannibal killing her to punish Will. It was unforgivable, something Will knew would never be fixable between them. Beverly Katz’s death was on him, something that weighed heavily on his conscience for years. He didn’t blame Hannibal for her death anymore but instead blamed himself. but Abigail? Abigail Hobbs was on Hannibal and Hannibal alone.

Hannibal studied him closely. “You haven’t forgiven me for what I did, not really.” 

“No,” Will spit viscously. “I forgave you in the catacombs for leaving me to die. Not for what you took from me.”

Hannibal narrowed his eyes, giving up the playacting act he had been playing up since yesterday. 

“Will,” his tone was condescending and cold. “Don’t act as if I’m the only one at fault for Abigail’s death.”

Will fought the urge to gap.

“You blame me?” His voice came out much calmer than he felt. He sounded civilized almost as if they were discussing sports on opposing teams.

“We could have been a family,” Hannibal spoke matter of factly. “But you chose the uncle over the child.”

The change in Will was palpable, something ugly snapping inside of him.

At that, Will stood, stalking forward, the build-up of all his suppressed emotions bubbling up all at once.

Will balled his fist, Hannibal watching him unflinchingly as he swung.

He didn’t even try to move away or shield himself when his fist made contact with his cheek, knocking his head to the side with the force of the hit.

Pain erupted at his knuckles but he ignored it, pulling back with a snarl, ready to lay another punch.

Hannibal grabbed his wrist before he could tightly, using it as leverage to pull Will closer and slam him against the wall, a punishing grip on his neck.

Will choked, using his free hand to grapple at Hannibal’s arm, his fingers closing slowly around his throat like a boa constrictor.

He couldn’t get enough air, couldn’t pull his wrist out of his grip to get free. He could feel his face turning red and then purple, black dots forming in his vision from the tight, unrelenting grip on his windpipe. 

Will tried to use his knee to kick at the man but he pressed his body closer, jostling Will against the wall as he pressed him closer so he couldn’t move. Every inch was pressed against him, holding him frozen in his anger.

He was going to pass out. Hannibal was finally going to kill him, with his hands just like Will always wanted. It was almost a relief.

His head sagged, heart pulsing hard in his brain like a throbbing headache when Hannibal finally let up, holding his elbow to keep him from collapsing.

Will gasped, chest heaving violently, sucking in air so fast it was dizzying. Will subconsciously found Hannibal’s shoulder, clutching onto it weakly as he fought for air, breathing erratic. The only thing holding him up any more was Hannibal, fittingly, his knees had gone weak and wobbly.

He looked up under his lashes, staring up at Hannibal's unreadable face. At least, he noted with a sense of satisfaction, even if the man had beat him in the end, his cheek was already purpling from the punch Will had landed. It would leave a nice bruise.

“Just breathe, Will,” he cooed.

Will bit back a snarky reply, watching the man closely to see what was next.

In heed of his silence, Hannibal leaned forward, brushing his lips against Will’s.

It wasn’t a kiss, not really. It was a closeness, a brush of skin, and shared breath with anticipation dripping. Electricity shot up his spine and Will was struck with just how fucked the situation was. The last thought he had was  _ what am I doing  _ before smashing his lips against Hannibal with renewed violence.

Their first kiss on the boat had been sweet. Their second was gnashing teeth and groans of pain, someone’s blood traded between their tongues like spiced wine, heady and warm. Will whined when Hannibal bit his lip until the skin broke, unable to free himself to bite back before the man was moving down, biting and sucking at his neck and collar bones.

He’d run his tongue over the skin, tasting him before sucking down to leave a bruise, marking him as if the world didn’t already know who he belonged to. Will fought back a moan at the feeling, the calm before the storm, succumbing to the pleasure of his mouth and relaxing just enough for Hannibal’s bite to take him by surprise, not hard enough to draw blood but hard enough for Will to cry out, renewing his struggle to do the same.

He managed to throw Hannibal off of him with a hard shove of his weight against this chest, taking his turn to slam Hannibal against the wall, sand-colored hair hitting the wall with a hard thump.

He wanted to kill him. To impale his body onto the antlers like a shrine for Abigail, or to pull open the buttoned shirt and sink his teeth down into him like he had, to return the cruelty in passion tenfold. Maybe both.

They breathed harshly, both eyeing each other closely before Will withdrew in the end, running a hand through his curls to push them back into place. 

Hannibal stood fully, spots of dark red on his lip, a harsh contrast to his gleaming teeth he had just sunk into Will’s neck though there was a tinge of red to them as well. Will could feel blood drying on his own lips, the iron tang still on his tongue. He couldn’t be sure if it was his or Hannibal’s, but he drank it down all the same as he caught his breath.

“Well. Shall I show you your room now? Or would you like to continue?” Hannibal asked pleasantly, straightening his suit jacket with an easy to his movements.

“No, no more,” Will shook his head, doing the same to his rumpled shirt.

Hannibal gave a small nod, turning his back and continuing up the stairs.

Will’s hands shook as he followed, hiding his unease by stuffing his hands down into his pockets. He could hardly focus on what he was saying or where they were going, mind racing a mile a minute.

Upstairs it was only the two bedrooms and a bathroom, their rooms a mere few feet from each other.

Hannibal took a right in the short hallway, opening the door to one of the rooms.

“We’ll have to share a bathroom on this floor, there is another downstairs, however. This will be your room, mine is the master across the hall. Unless you wish to sleep in the same room.”

“I’d rather not,” Will quipped. His mind raced at the implications, a hurricane of emotions knocking him around wildly. He couldn’t think straight, neck throbbing and lip split. 

He walked into the room, not even taking in the decor as he had in the living room and plopped himself messily on the bed.

The blankets were clean, a puff of detergent filling the air when he sat. When had Hannibal had the time to have people clean and change the bedding?

“Will?”

He hummed in response, looking up from his bed to meet Hannibal’s eyes. He could have sworn they were red instead of brown, staring down at him with the looking of a hunter, so predatory Will had to suppress a shiver as it was turned on him.

“What happened to the man you met? In Lithuania?”

Will grinned wildly with too many teeth to match the look Hannibal had given him. “I transformed him.”

The answer earned him a pleased look of approval. The warmth that bloomed in his stomach made Will all the more conflicted before Hannibal turned and left him alone with his thoughts


	4. I say take the shot, see this chance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will's and Hannibal's relationship progresses in a positive direction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So apparently having a full-time job and hobbies and other responsibilities is a bit much for me, I've been a little overwhelmed so this chapter was almost a full week later than I intended it to be, I'm sorry! I hope you enjoy it!

Will was man enough to admit when he was being a coward, and he was in fact, at the current moment, being a coward.

He avoided Hannibal like the plague the day after the incident on the stairs, not even daring to leave his room long enough to get something to eat. He figured he would rather starve than risk encountering Hannibal again and at least not eating for a while meant they would both survive. He wasn’t sure the same could be said if he ran into him so soon after.

Will spent the rest of the day investigating his new room, noting with mirthless humor that the top shelf of the bookcase against one wall held nothing but medical journals published by Dr. Lecter himself and the lower levels held only medical textbooks. The man certainly had an ego, whether he wanted to admit it or not. He did find books on the bottom level of the bookcase that held some interest, mostly literary classics such as Shakespeare and Steinbeck that lost appeal by the second day.

The rest of the room was less interesting, meaningless vases, a painting he couldn’t begin to comprehend painted with bright colors to contrast the dreary dark blue walls of the house. There was a single window just behind the bed but he kept the curtains drawn, just in case.

Will only dared to venture out of his room under the disguise of the night. Hannibal had thankfully stayed in his own room, though Will could hear movement behind the closed door, signaling that he was very much awake. He was grateful for that choice on his part, nowhere near ready to face him again while he scavenged the kitchen for food before hiding in his room yet again. He also found, when going up the stairs again with an armful of bread and fruit, that the antlers were gone, a faded patch of paint on the wall where they had once hung.

It was the morning of day three of the strained pattern when he heard the front door open and shut downstairs. Either someone was in the house, or Hannibal had left him. Again. 

Both were equally bad options.

Puzzled, Will braced himself and stuck his head out of his room, surprised by the flutter of a note taped to the top of the plain white door, just below his nose.

_ Dear Will, _

_ Please do not think I have left you, I am grocery shopping and will return this evening. If you would be so obliged to join me for dinner tonight instead of starving yourself in your room, I will happily prepare enough for both of us and we can behave like civilized, friendly people. _

Will snorted. There was nothing civilized about either of them.

The idea was certainly appealing. The day’s time alone had given him plenty of time to re-evaluate and center himself, cooling down and learning to think rationally again, something that was hard sought when he was around the man.

He could do dinner. Probably.

With the potential of running into Hannibal gone, Will immediately went for the bathroom down the hall, getting straight into the most luxurious shower he had ever seen. It may have been that the shower on the boat wasn’t much better than that of a two-star hotel or that it was really just that fancy, he couldn’t be sure. All he knew was that it was aesthetically pleasing, crystal clear glass walls with a stone backsplash, and the showerhead had water pressure. What more was there to want?

The pressure was so nice, the second Will stepped under the hot water, an involuntary moan left his lips, muscles relaxing almost immediately. A tinge of ache ran up his shoulder from the impact of hitting the wall so hard days before, his neck still tender from the crushing grip Hannibal had held him in.

He scrubbed all the grime off that lingered from the airport, the sweat from his sleep and oil from his hair that accumulated over the days. He even used conditioner, taking the time to just stand and relax in the scolding water while it soaked in. By the time he got out and toweled off, he felt new again. Like if someone rubbed his arm he’d squeak with how clean and refreshed he was.

The shower lifted his mood as well, he almost felt… peppy. Or at least, much happier than he had been before the godsend of a shower.

Tying the towel off around his hips, he studied himself in the mirror. His skin was pink from the heat, hair was far too long, beard too big, bugging him endlessly.

He rustled through the drawers of the bathroom, finding a shaving kit and immediately going to work. He would have to grow it back out again before they left for Europe but at least he’d get a reprieve from the itchy hairs for a while, however short that might be.

Will trimmed the hair before shaving it off completely, lamenting how baby faced it made him look with no hair at all. At least, he conceded, his usual scruff would grow back in a day's time and he would look like his normal self again. He had to admit, the clean shave was nice though after going so long with a full beard.

The bite mark Hannibal left was still visible, the harsh dark bruise a testament to just how hard he had decided to bite down that day. It was an ugly purple still, bruising stretching out and around the teeth indents that still stained his neck. With his beard gone and no shirt, the mark stood out all the more. His cheek had the same effect, the pink rigid skin now fully exposed with nothing to hide behind. It was going to scar, he knew that much for sure, just like the one at the top of his forehead or the smile along his stomach. All three were proof of Hannibal’s love for him, driven from different moments of passion. He bore the one on his cheek with something akin to adoration, the one on his head with disdain and his stomach with forgiveness.

It was fucked up, Will readily admitted.

He kind of enjoyed it. It was gruesome, cruel, and passionate just like everything else about them when they were together.

The only thing left was his hair. The long curls that rode the back of his neck made his neck itch, far too fluffy for his liking. 

Will glanced down at the scissors still sitting innocently on the edge of the expensive porcelain sink, raising his eyebrows in contemplation. It wouldn’t be the first time he gave himself a haircut but he wasn’t known for looking nice afterward. He had been going to the barber since he could afford it, a small luxury he indulged himself with in his modest life.

A small part of him wanted to look nice when sitting in front of Hannibal.

He decided against cutting it with a shake of his head, exiting the bathroom quickly before he changed his mind and ended up looking like an idiot. Perhaps he could get Hannibal to help him later in the day, or find the courage to leave the house and go to the barber.

As an afterthought, halfway to his room, he realized he didn’t have any clothes awaiting him int he big empty closet next to his bed. The ones he had stripped out of in the bathroom were disgusting after wearing them for three days and he didn’t know where the bag was that had all the clothing in it. 

Hesitantly he looked at Hannibal’s room. He could not stay in nothing but a towel all day.

Will imagined Hannibal in his fancy suit making an elaborate dinner and Will showing up half-naked. He wasn’t sure if he’d be appalled or into it, but the thought made him snort all the same.

It felt wrong to invade his space when he wasn’t home as Will crept into his room. He knew he wouldn't appreciate it if Hannibal did the same to him, but he didn’t have much in terms of options.

He tried to make it short, not spending time snooping around however much he was tempted and went straight for the closet, pleased to see the clothes from the bag were hanging up. He quickly pulled down some he had worn before and hurried out the room and back into his.

  
  
  
  


Will was in a mood. It was like an itch at the back of his head. It made him pace around if he sat too long, restless, unable to focus or relax. He walked up the stairs to his room, fiddled with a random object that caught his attention before going back downstairs, doing the same in the living room, going through the fridge for a snack out of boredom before stalking back to the living room and sitting down with a huff. Once he sat for long enough for the itch to start again, he was back at it, constantly moving and prowling through the house.

Wherever Hannibal was, he was sure taking his sweet time. It was already five and he hadn’t been home once.

He wished the man had a tv. he had picked up a book five times now only for his mind to wander until he gave up, putting it back down again. He’d gladly watch the news at this point just for something to stare at. He had made the wish often on the boat, but now it somehow felt worse, being on land, no longer hiding in open water with a store literally a few blocks away.

He could walk down to the store and buy a tv. Will stood abruptly at the idea, walking back up the stairs to get his wallet before he realized he didn’t have anything in it he could use. He had a crumpled five-dollar bill, a driver’s license, a debit card, and a punch card for his favorite coffee place in Virginia.

He couldn’t very well use the debit card.

He sat down on his bed with a sigh, wondering how he managed to not go stir crazy when he was on the boat. Or perhaps he had and that’s what drove him to intimacy with Hannibal, though that was a long time coming.

Will’s mind drifted back to the scissors in the bathroom, still sitting innocently on the porcelain sink.

Unintentionally he found his way into the bathroom for the second time today, the damp towel he had used this morning setting around his neck to catch the hairs he was about to trim off.

Molly had had a habit of cutting her hair when she got stressed or bored, Will mused. She probably had a bob now after Will’s “death”. He often came home to find her in the same position he was in currently, a glass of wine sitting on the cabinet and scissors in her hands. It was how she ended up with bangs with brown hair, then red, then back to blonde. One time she even gave herself a perm after a particularly rough work week that ended in a frizzy mess. Will promised himself he wouldn’t laugh but the minute she burst into hysterical laughter he did as well, going with her the next day to the salon to fix it.

His heart panged. She had become his best friend fast over the years, he would always love her even if he belonged to someone else.

The first snip wasn’t too bad, a small chunk of hair falling into the sink. In fact, he’d even dare say it was a good start. 

The second was decent if a little rough. 

The third made him cringe.

By the time he was done he had a mullet.

“Shit,” he sighed, not sure if he should laugh or cry. He looked like a hillbilly, the exact opposite of the look he wanted. Each strand was a different length, the back too long and the front too short. 

Usually, he had Molly to help him and he had his dad when he was younger. There was definitely a reason he did not do this on his own. This was a mistake.

Much to his horror, he heard the click of the front door, interrupting his thoughts of shaving it off completely.

Of course, Hannibal would choose now to come home.

“Will?” He called after the ruffle of bags being sat on the counter and the close of the door.

Will grimaced. There was no fixing this.

He quickly pulled the towel off his shoulders, shaking and ruffling the strands in an attempt to shuffle it around so it didn’t look as odd. It didn’t help.

He could hear the thump of footsteps up the stairs before Hannibal spoke again, this time much closer.

“Did you read my note I left you?” He asked, between the bathroom and Will’s room.

He debated on not answering, pretending he was still sulking in his room, but acting like a moody teenager would get him nowhere.

“Yes,” he called back.

“Good,” Hannibal came closer now that he knew where Will was. “And will you be joining me for dinner?”

“I…” Will started but stopped, staring at himself in the mirror. “On a condition.”

“And that condition is?” Hannibal asked, intrigued.

“I need your help,” Will sighed, resigned. There was no way he could fix the mess he made of his hair alone.

“With?”

Will took a deep breath, steeling himself before pulling open the door.

Hannibal looked him over, surprised. At first, he kept his expression neutral but as he took in the uneven choppy mullet, a small smile turned into an outright grin with a small chuckle and shake of his head.

“Don’t,” Will warned playfully, trying his best to suppress his own laughter.

“You like quite dashing,” Hannibal complimented, mirth crinkling his eyes. 

“Help me,” Will whined.

Hannibal reaches out, examining the strangely mismatched chops and uneven edges. “May I ask what drove you to do this to your hair?”

“I needed a haircut,” Will groaned. “But I’m…  _ very _ bad at haircuts.”

“It is certainly not where you exceed.”

Will’s shoulders relaxed at the way Hannibal was stroking his hair, leaning into the touch more and more.

“Luckily I believe I can help at least some. Grab the scissors and meet me downstairs, I need to put the groceries up before we begin.”

Will nodded, sitting up fully and allowing Hannibal to leave back the way he came. He turned and gathered the supplies they may need: razor, scissors, and a towel before he followed, listening to the crinkle of the bags downstairs. 

His chest felt light, lighter than it had in weeks, maybe even months. He was as embarrassed as he was humored, the way Hannibal had laughed at him made his cheeks turn pink uncontrollably, a simmering feeling of happiness in his gut that he didn’t think he could ever feel again. They weren’t overly joyous people, their lives didn’t allow for such emotion, but today he was sure he had smiled more time in the past few minutes than he had in months, even with Molly and Walter.

He reached the end of the stairs, looking to Hannibal across the open spacious rooms for direction. He gestured at the barstool just in front of him, only a few bags left to put away.

Will took a seat, watching him move. Hannibal in the kitchen was always a marvel, the way he moved with such ease and comfort.

“What are we having for dinner?” Will asked conversely.

“Loin with Cumberland sauce,” Hannibal spoke over his shoulder as the last bag was unpacked.

Will narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “What is the loin from?”

Hannibal paused, meeting his eyes calmly.

“Hannibal.” Will chided when he received no answer.

They were both fully aware of what was in the package currently held in Hannibal’s hands, wrapped in brown butcher paper and twine.

Will wasn’t as disgusted as he thought he would be, it was almost expected by now. Hannibal hadn’t been reformed in the BSHCI, only imprisoned in luxury. He had even already admitted to planning to kill again while they were at sea still. Will had been unsure then, saying as much, but now that it had happened he couldn’t find an ounce of the perturbed horror he had before. The feeling was now replaced with curiosity, intrigue, even desire to taste Hannibal’s cooking again as it should be.

“Pork,” he answered finally.

Will pursed his lips against the bubble of laughter in his throat. “Pork huh?”

Hannibal smirked at his reaction. “Very rude pork that I honestly had no intention of killing until they were so rude. The opportunity presented itself and I wanted to make us a nice meal.”

“Hannibal,” Will groaned lightheartedly with a wolfish grin that warped his face that even he could feel. “We’ve been here for three days.”

The man took in the smile, the unstableness beneath it, and slid the packaged meat into the fridge, ending the conversation on the matter entirely.

“Now,” he turned to Will, giving him his full attention. “Let’s fix your hair.”

Will adjusted himself on the stool in anticipation, pulling the towel back around his neck. Hairs poked at the base of his skull, making him twitch to escape the itchy feeling.

Hannibal came up behind him, pressed close enough together that the heat from his chest radiated onto his back. Will shivered the ghost of fingers at his nape sending goosebumps up his arm.

Hannibal leaned over him, ensuring his larger body enveloped Will’s as he reached for the scissors, drawing back and saying something that Will couldn’t bring himself to focus on. 

It was a comment about the opera or something equally as unimportant. All he could like about was how Hannibal was touching him, a gentle ghost over his skin, the glide of the metal scissors, the way he used his shoulder and hip to turn him around just so.

There was something about letting Hannibal near his neck and head with scissors. A hint of danger in each move that both parties were fully aware of. It was like Will was riding along the edge of a knife, the only thing stopping him from being cut was a thin protective plastic of trust capable of giving away at any moment.

He was getting turned on by haircuts now, he couldn’t help but scoff, shifting in his seat to adjust the strain growing in his pants.

Really it was anything and everything Hannibal did that made his blood pump a little faster.

Hannibal stopped, hand resting on his neck, thumb rubbing over the bruises and bite mark with reverence to his touch, worshipping the skin while Will held his breath at the dull pain of the sensitive wound being touched.

“Are you aroused right now, Will?” Hannibal asked, no judgment in his tone, only a simple inquisitiveness.

He knew better than to try and lie, the man could probably smell it on him with his powerful nose.

“A little,” he breathed.

Hannibal went back to trimming his hair. “May I ask what is causing it?”

“You.”

Hannibal hummed, waiting for elaboration.

Will spilled.

“You could kill me right now in any number of ways. But you’re not going to. I like being close to you, having you touch me even just like this.”

He could feel the smirk the man bore in the way he moved, not commenting on the admission.

Will didn’t need a mirror to know Hannibal was doing a much better job than he ever could have. 

“So it is the adrenaline? The exhilaration that comes with the possibility of death?”

Will resisted shaking his head, trying to hold still. “I always feel a shot of adrenaline when I am with you.”

“As do I with you.”

Hannibal slowly spun him around to face him, the barstool creaking in protest. 

Will’s knees fell open, allowing Hannibal to slot his thighs in between them, spreading them even farther apart. His cock twitched excitedly, a nervous flutter in his throat. 

“Is this alright, Will?”

Will nodded enthusiastically.

Hannibal leaned down, capturing his lips in a soft, chaste kiss that turned heated by the second. Hannibal took the lead, dominating his mouth. Will thought briefly that he was about to be devoured and he couldn’t be more okay with that.

He worked his way down his body, marks sucked into his neck that got his blood thrumming, nips to sensitive areas that made Will cling to strong shoulders all the tighter.

He got halfway down, fingers playing at the ends of his shirt before Hannibal got to his knees. Will’s breath stuttered in his chest, not sure where to look. Hannibal was staring at him like a piece of meat, he tried to look above his head, at the ceiling, to close his eyes completely but then he would miss something. In the end, he stared back at Hannibal, meeting his gaze.

Hannibal pushed the band of his underwear down, hooking the fabric underneath his half-hard cock, below his balls in a lewd manner. Never once did he look away from Will, a constant battle between brown and blue that seemed to never end.

He thought however briefly he was about to take him into his mouth. Will was on edge with desire but instead, he ran his nose down his shaft, grazing against sensitive skin that delighted and confused him at the same time before it struck him.

He was smelling him. Will’s faces burned cherry red, resisting the urge to push Hannibal away completely. The man noticed the reaction he had gained, a feral grin disappearing between Will’s legs as he leaned in again, burying his nose along the crease of his thigh, chin brushing against his balls.

He tried to move his legs together but Hannibal wasn’t having it, holding them open as he made his way up the shaft. The occasional wet open-mouthed kiss was placed strategically, up and down until Will was so worked up he could burst without even being touched properly. The hard band of his underwear be damned, the strange obscene smelling be damned too. Each kiss was a dose of pure addiction. He hand found Hannibal’s hair in a silent plea, teeth gnawing at his bottom lip and daring to meet his eyes, seeing nothing but hunger.

Hot, wet heat consumed him in an instant. He was set ablaze, every inch of his skin burning with the point of origin being his groin.

For a few seconds, there was only the sound of Will’s breathing picking up pace, the quiet slick bobs of Hannibal’s lips as he worked his way further and further down until his nose was buried in Will’s coarse curls.

Will keened, hips flexing with the urge to buck up into Hannibal’s mouth. He grabbed a fistful of his hair, not caring if it was uncomfortable, pulling on it to draw him up his cock and back down at the pace he wanted. 

Hannibal obliged, following the forceful grip without complaint.

Will was in charge but he knew damn well who had the power here. It was Hannibal just as it had always been. It was the way he held his waist down, the way he would stop sucking if Will pulled too hard as punishment. Still, it was a sight to see such a powerful man down on his knees in front of him, kneeling at his feet.

A shot of heat ran up his spine when Hannibal looked up at him, mouth stretched wide over his cock, cheeks hollowed. His gut clenched, stomach concaving to the fire growing inside. The delicious slide up and down was his only salvation, yet it wasn’t enough, too fast and then too slow, setting Will on the edge, Hannibal’s name spilling from his lungs like a prayer mixed with please’s and groans.

“Please please I’m gonna…” the barest hint of the southern accent surfaced, a Louisiana drawl he suppressed the best he could. The accent always made him sound ignorant, less intelligent, he learned early on to hide it but now he couldn’t control it.

It only urged Hannibal on, satisfied timing hear the tinge of it in his voice as he begged to cum.

He sped up, sucking harder, massaging his balls in a roll of his hand that made Will’s hips cant up to chase the feeling.

He came with a cry, a low moan of Hannibal’s name, the man swallowing around him greedily until he stopped. Until overstimulation bit at his weary bones, until he whined low in his throat, his push too weak to actually knock Hannibal away from him.

Hannibal stood, wiping his thumb across the corner of his mouth and sucking it clean. Will shuddered. If he could get hard again he probably would already just from the dark, hungry look Hannibal gave him. 

He was hard, Will could see the stiff bulge in his slacks, yet he said nothing, turning Will back around and picking the scissors up.

He continued the last few trims there were left before their sexual escapades distracted them.

“It’s shorter than you would prefer,” Hannibal spoke softly. “But it is much better.”

“Thank you,” Will said, breathless.

Which act he was thanking him for remained uncertain.

Hannibal didn’t mention his very obvious erection, moving on to gather the cutting board and the pots and pans he would need to cook while Will collected himself, zipping his flaccid cock back into his pants and using the towel to gather up the majority of the hair that had fallen onto the cabinet. The floor would have to be swept and could be dealt with later, at least the food wouldn’t be contaminated with loose hairs.

“Do you want me to…?” Will asked, gesturing vaguely to Hannibal’s crotch, earning an amused smirk.

“No, I need to get dinner prepared if we wish to eat at a reasonable time.”

Will accepted the answer but he couldn’t help the rise of insecurity. Hannibal had felt experienced when he blew him, Will had been new to it, and drunk at that.

“Will,” Hannibal sighed kindly, beckoning him around the table. Will followed, pleased when the man wrapped his strong arms around him, drawing him in for a deep, messy kiss.

“It’s late,” he breathed. “That is all. If I had it my way, I would much rather stop time to have you against the table.”

Will jumped slightly at the thought.

“But, that is not possible. I am still overly delighted to share dinner with you.”   
Will nodded, balling the dirty towel up in his hands and pulling away. “I’ll go put this up and help.”

Hannibal began rolling his sleeves up, watching him make his way to the laundry room. “I would very much enjoy that, Will.”

His name sounded like a pet name when he said it like that: devoted, affectionate. 

Will took a moment to appreciate the way the man looked with his sleeves rolled up like that, strong forearms flexing with every move, big hands, hair still disheveled from Will’s hands, a flush to his cheeks that was visible now that he had shaved at some point.   
Will quickly finished his quick route to the laundry room, sequestered adjacent to the dining room and bathroom on this floor. 

By the time he got back, Hannibal was slicing the “pork”, preparing the slab of meat for the oven.

Will took his place beside him, picking up the zester laid out on the cutting board for him on the island. He began zesting the lemon and orange without question.

“Wine?” Hannibal called over his shoulder, pulling open a small wine pantry. It wasn’t near as grand as it had been in Baltimore but still, it was more luxurious than any normal person would have in their home, or at least, Will thought. He had yet to meet someone who held such a penchant for wine as Hannibal did.

“Yes, please,” Will answered.

It was calming to cook next to Hannibal, to be welcomed and incorporated into the magical show that he put on as he cooked. He sipped his wine, following his orders to a ‘T’ as he cooked, helping with the sauce and vegetables. They conversed lightly, discussing the wonders of Havana Cuba that they would explore before departing. Will nervously agreed, pushing down his worries in favor of leaving the house and exploring.

“Of course,” Hannibal reminded him. “You’ll have to use an alias.”   
“What?” Will asked dumbly.

“The name on your passport would be best unless you are opposed to it.”

Will flushed. “I never read the name on the passport.”

“That’s alright. Your name is Mason Boucher and I am Alan Boucher. We are married and on our honeymoon, if anyone were to ask.”

“That was rather presumptuous on your part.”

“I had hope that you would agree to pose as my husband, especially with the way our current relationship is forming.”

Will deadpanned, connecting the names. “Mason?”

Hannibal smirked over the saucepan. “Yes. I almost made it Francis but I thought that would be too soon.”

Will didn’t know if he wanted to laugh or scream. “Mason Boucher. And Alan?”

“I found it to be reminiscent of Alana.”

“That is very sentimental of you,” Will spoke. He bore no resentment towards their relationship anymore. Not knowing how Alana had changed over the years, so far from the sweet woman who refused to be in a room alone with him. He still hadn’t fully forgiven her for not believing him when he was imprisoned.

“I suppose it was,” Hannibal replied lightly. “Or perhaps subconsciously I chose the name for myself because of your affection for Alana.”

“And you want my affection instead of her?” Will asked. “You have nothing to worry about, Hannibal. I love you and only you. You made sure of that.”

Hannibal didn’t so much as flinch at the sudden declaration. “I know.”

Dinner was a calm, enjoyable affair. The wine warmed his chest, the food was as good as he had remembered it to be and the pair managed to behaved like well mannered, civilized, normal people sharing a meal. There was no maiming, biting, harsh words, or punches thrown. No knives were drawn, no one was launching themselves across the table and aiming for the throat. They even shared a few jokes, laughing lightly. It was the most enjoyable night in Cuba so far. It felt like it had at the peak of their friendship. Before everything. Yet it was better at the same time, a new honesty in their words that hadn’t been available before.

With his belly full, Will’s eyes were beginning to feel heavy when coupled with the wine. He wasn’t even sure he could stay awake for a nightcap.

They cleaned together, Will washing the dishes while Hannibal dried and put away. By the time they had finished, the clock showed it was nearing ten p.m.

“Think I need to head to bed,” he dried off his hands, setting the towel down.

Hannibal nodded. “As will I.”

They ascended the stairs together as friends this time, rather than damn near enemies, an admittedly nice change.

Will turned towards his bedroom when a hand on his wrist stopped him.

“Will you join me in my room for the night?” Hannibal asked, hopeful.

Will thought about it. The last time hadn’t gone well but it was so, so tempting. He craved the closeness, his touch, his smell, his everything. It was like a drug and he couldn’t get enough of.

“Just to sleep,” Hannibal continued. “I won’t harm you again, I promise.”

Will turned, looking Hannibal up and down, faintly surprised by the word ‘promise’ coming from him, knowing how final that word was. His hair was still ruffled from Will’s grip on it before dinner, dress shirt untucked on one side, and watching Will just closely.

“Okay,” he agreed, no more than a whisper.

Hannibal smiled slightly at him, his micro-expressions giving away his relief that Will had agreed. Without another word, he led the way to the bathroom, even handing Will his toothbrush before taking his own.

The act was so wholesome, domesticated, and loving. The very opposite of their entire beings. Even their acts of love were always tinted with violence and cruelty, their relationship being unconventional from the time they had met.

Will stood next to Hannibal the Cannibal Lecter, brushing his teeth with him after sharing a meal, and next to share a bed like an old married couple. An edge of disbelief tugged at his mind, the insanity of the entire moment too strange to believe.

They finished, Will falling back to let Hannibal take the lead. He did without question, walking the short distance to the end of the hall that he had claimed as his own, entering first. Will felt his shoulders relaxing some now that he could follow his direction.

He strode over to the bed, pulling the dark wine comforter back to reveal the plain white sheets beneath it, leaving two pillows behind as he unmade the bed instead of one. 

Once he finished, he began to strip, ridding himself of the stifling suit jacket, the dark blue falling away to leave nothing but the salmon dress shirt, the strange paisley tie landing amongst it.

“You don’t normally leave your clothes lying around,” Will commented as he neared the bed, following suit as he stripped out of his borrowed clothes.

“No, I do not,” Hannibal agreed, unbuttoning his shirt.

Relieved he wasn’t the first one to become exposed, once Hannibal was bare-chested, Will did the same.

“But it is not often I find you willing to sleep in a bed with me. I find myself entirely too excited at the notion to waste time on things that could wait until the morning.”

“But we’re just sleeping?” Will asked, making a messy pile of his own clothes on the floor. Hannibal at least had the decency to drape his on the chair next to the bedside table.

His pants were the last to join the pile, the only article he kept on was the once again borrowed briefs.

Hannibal gave him a reassuring nod and tilt of his lips, standing in the same briefs that Will wore and nothing else.

His chest was enticing, Will found himself longing for the chance to run his fingers through the soft hairs there, to lay against him and rest his cheek against it, to hear his heartbeat and feel his breathing. Silvery strands mixed with darker browns leading down into a soft trail over his belly, disappearing down into the briefs. Scars littered his skin, the bullet wound still pink and healing, the marks left by Matthew Brown visible on his forearms when he moved, gracefully crawling into the bed.

Will followed suit, knowing he was being studied just as closely. He urged himself to relax, allowing himself to give in to his desires. Slowly he edged his way closer in the plenty big bed, invading Hannibal’s space with ease. He laid his head down on Hannibal’s chest, the press of skin to skin making him absolutely melt against him. He nuzzled as close as possible, a sigh leaving his throat that was practically a purr. 

They fit together like puzzle pieces, made for each other in every possible way, their jagged edges cut from the same cloth. 

Hannibal shifted to a more comfortable position, wrapping his arms tightly around Will, a silent promise to never let go.


	5. Live with me in this sin forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will and Hannibal enjoy a domestic day in Havana.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah yes. A week late because I forgot where I was going with this lmao, enjoy! I’m conflicted on this chapter too, I low key don’t like it but writing this is keeping me busy and entertained so I’ll keep going with it

Will was a formidable force early in the mornings. Hannibal would say he was always a formidable force, but it was especially true when dawn broke across the horizon and birds chirped happily outside their window. He practically turned into an octopus, all loose-limbed from the warm sheets and a good night’s sleep.

They had skipped the awkward stage of sleeping together, no forced cuddling or trying to look perfect in their sleep. The pair slept back to back, sometimes not even touching, but no matter the distance between them in the roomy bed Will still managed to put up a fight against waking up so damn early. He had had enough of waking up early when he had classes to teach, when he had to get up to go to a crime scene, when he had to find alone time before Molly or Walter were awake. Now, he just wanted to sleep in a bit and enjoy his new life.

He could feel Hannibal attempting to get up from the bed, slow easy movements to not wake him, unbeknownst he was already awake.

Will reached out, curling his hand around a strong wrist, pulling it out from underneath him without care if he fell over or not. Hannibal fell back slightly, guard relaxed, and an easy, amused smile curling at the edges of his lips that Will could feel rather than see. He knew the look well, he saw it so often these days; the fond, teasing, not-quite-a-full-smile that made warmth bloom in his chest with a crinkle in the crow’s feet under his eyes.

“Will,” he spoke softly in a warning.

“Hannibal,” Will growled back, unrelenting.

It had been a few days since their dinner, just shy of a week. Will found himself curled up in the good doctor’s bed every night since, detesting even the mere thought of the cold and distant room at the end of the hallway. 

Each morning turned into the same game of domestic tranquility. Hannibal would rise at an outrageous hour and Will would drag him back into the blankets. If he was lucky, he would win and get an extra hour of sleep snuggled up on top of him so he couldn’t leave again. If he was unlucky, he would get to watch Hannibal cook while he sipped his morning coffee. Either way, he won in some small way. Will had never been a “touchy” person, preferring to keep physical contact to a minimum but lately, he had discovered something that he was sure his partner would much prefer to keep a secret if he was even aware of it himself.

“I need to fix breakfast.” Hannibal cooed, trying to drag himself out of reach.

“Later.”

Will lovingly swiped his thumb over the man’s forearm, stroking until he felt his muscles relaxing, subtly giving in. Will had to wonder how he had not seen it sooner with the way he sought out touching him even when they weren’t speaking on the boat. He was always tactile before, but since he escaped prison it was even more so than usual. Small brushes against the back of his hand, an unnecessary guiding hand against his back, a touch too long to his cheek when tending to it.

Hannibal Lecter was touch starved.

He craved touch after three years of almost no contact, needed it like air and Will was all too willing to give it to him. He clearly recalled his short time of confinement, the way that he had practically dog piled with his pack to sate the desperate need for contact with something that was living.

Will used the revelation to his advantage daily, running his hand up the curve of his back and massaging at his shoulder blades. He dropped back down, snaking around his waist and ghosting fingertips over his hips in a promise for more if he laid back down. 

Every caress he relaxed further and further into the bed until his head hit the pillow with an indulgent sigh. 

Will was practically petting him like he was some kind of beloved pet. It was intimate, not sexual in nature when he twined their legs together or when Hannibal touched back, pulling him closer to him.

Hannibal absentmindedly trailed his fingers over Will’s arm, through the dusting of hairs and scars that littered his body like strokes on a canvas. “I thought we might go out today.”

Will froze.

When he stopped his caressing, Hannibal turned his head to regard him cooly, lack of judgment clear in response to his hesitance. “You need your own clothes, some that will fit you much better than mine. Then perhaps we could explore the city. Perhaps somewhere quiet like a museum or the beach.”

Will stayed quiet, petting Hannibal gently while he contemplated it.

“I’ve been to town multiple times, no one suspects anything,” Hannibal promised.

“I know. A lot of people are just…” Will searches for the right word. “Overwhelming. It always had been but now it’s…”

“Too much?” Hannibal supplied.

Will nodded in agreement. 

They laid in bed for what felt like five minutes before Hannibal leaned over Will, trapping him with his body and the mattress in a searing kiss. 

Will groaned, noises swallowed down greedily by the man above, half-mast morning wood pressed firmly against his thigh.

Hannibal suddenly disappeared, Will opening his eyes to blink blurring in confusion as he wriggled out of reach.

“Did you do that so you could get up?”

Hannibal only gave him a smug smile in answer. Will huffed as he watched him dawn a shirt and exit the room.

“Whose is that?” Will asked, pointing at the sleek motorcycle parked just outside the steps of their home. He was no expert, but it looked to be Italian and expensive, practically answering his question before he had even asked.

“Mine,” Hannibal purred, basking in the surprise on Will’s face when he looked up at him with wide blue eyes. “We won’t be needing that to reach the shops though, I was hoping we could go for a walk first and use that to get to the museum afterward.”

“You drive a motorcycle?” Will couldn’t stop the surprise coloring his tone.

“Yes. It’s a wonderful feeling, I imagine it will be twice as wonderful with you on it with me.”

Will blinked. He could remember the handful of times he had been on a motorcycle but it had been years at least. Maybe a decade, and he couldn’t remember ever riding it further than around the block.

“Are you uncomfortable with the idea?” Hannibal asked sincerely.

“No,” Will shook his head. Exílale rated would be a better word for whatever it was he was feeling. 

Hannibal nodded, stroking up a light conversation as they navigated the new streets to put Will at ease. 

The residential area they were in was small, bleeding into the busier shopping districts.

Will couldn’t help the way he stayed close to Hannibal, trailing behind him, conversation dying the more people surrounding them. The streets were busy, bustling. It was like old times the way he turned to Hannibal for comfort, a striking thought at the back of his mind.

Still, he kept close, following his lead. There were so many new sights and smells he had half a mind to lay a hand on Hannibal’s shoulder and use the man as a guide dog so he could look around without bumping into anyone or thing. He refrained but only barely.

Cuba was beautiful. Palm trees lining the streets, classic cars, pastel buildings shining against the blue sky. They even passed a food truck that made his mouth water despite the breakfast Hannibal had cooked still filling his belly. Hannibal grimaced when Will turned the best begging, puppy eyes to him in question.

“We could share something,” he offered.

Hannibal’s nose scrunched. “Absolutely not.”

Will sighed petulantly. “Please? It might be the best food you’ve ever had.”

“I’m not eating anything that comes out of a truck,” Hannibal gave a shake of his head. “And neither are you.”

“People drive trucks,” Will offered darkly, suppressing a snicker.

Hannibal kept walking as if he hadn’t heard him.

Defeated, Will followed, making a mental note of where the truck was for future reference.

They eventually walked into a high-end district, that much was for certain. The shops were classy, chic in a way that made his hair bristle in a stark reminder of just how much he did not belong in them.

It felt like that scene from  _ Pretty Woman  _ that Molly made him watch one night. He stuck out like a sore thumb with his oversized clothes, wild hair, and scruffy face. He shrunk in on himself, wishing once again for his glasses back to hide behind.

Hannibal of course steered him towards the most expensive-looking store he had ever seen in his life.

“Hannibal, this is…” Will spoke uneasily, stepping back from the luxurious store the man was trying to lead him into.

He couldn’t read the name. The years he spent living in the south, he had picked up some Spanish, and the years in Louisiana gave him some French, but not well enough to even get by. Still, despite the Spanish name, he could tell it was fancy, or maybe because. Tall, clean windows, dazzling lights, and sleek mannequins.

“I quite like this store. I’ve been here a few times when I first purchased the houses here,” Hannibal smiled as if he didn’t understand what was making Will so uncomfortable.

“This isn’t…” Will began. “I’m. Can’t we just go to a department store or something?”

Hannibal scrunched his nose in distaste. “I would prefer we not.”

“Could we go somewhere cheaper then?”

“This is perfectly fine, Will,” Hannibal took him by his elbow, ushering him into the store.

A smartly dressed woman behind the counter greeted them, Hannibal speaking in fluid Spanish as he explained what they were here for. She gave him a dazzling smile, the kind that made the whole room a little brighter. She was young, dark brown wavy hair pulled back in a low ponytail, a pretty face, and a remarkably peppy attitude.

Will walked off, tuning out the charming laugh from the lady at whatever Hannibal had said in their conversation. He picked up a shirt, a stylish white dress shirt that wasn’t terribly bad to look at. The material, whatever it was, was soft, silky, and light, running through his fingers with ease that would feel wonderful in the humid heat that was Cuba.

He held it up, examining it a little closer when the tag pinned with a safety clip to the tag on the inside of the shirt caught his attention. 

297.000 CUC.

Will frowned, trying to remember what he knew about currency in different countries before coming up short on information.

Thankfully, Hannibal joined him after he was done flirting with the girl to which Will huffed snidely. “Did you ask her to dinner?”

The question was blurted out before he could control it, a blush rising to his cheeks filled with regret.

Hannibal blinked. “Did I make you angry, Will? Jealous?”

“No, just wondering. Seemed to like her,” he held up the shirt, changing the subject. “How much is this?”

“I can make her dinner if you’re so inclined,” Hannibal ignored him.

Will froze, meeting his eyes. The sentence sounded normal enough from the outside, the two people browsing in the corner of the store, and the lady behind the counter would have no idea of the implications behind his words. Will on the other hand knew exactly what he meant.

“She’s just doing her job, she wasn’t even being rude.”

“Perhaps,” Hannibal hummed.

“How much?”

Hannibal glanced down at the price tag. “Cuban convertible pesos are quite easy to understand, ignore the last three digits behind the decimal and you will get a rough estimation of what something costs. The shirt would be 297 dollars.”

Will dropped the shirt as if it had burned him. “Holy shit. It’s just a shirt.”

“It’s a nice shirt,” Hannibal justified.

“It’s too nice for  _ me _ ,” Will grimaced.

Hannibal frowned, sincerity like a calm, cool river in his voice. “Nothing is too nice for you, Will.”

Will gently hung the shirt back up, careful not to smudge the pristine white of the material, and looked expectantly at Hannibal.

They stared at each other, a silent battle of will before Hannibal broke with a sigh.

“Alright, a different store then,” Hannibal relinquished.

Will’s lips quirked into a lopsided grin, a small victory against Hannibal was still a victory.

They approached the door when the woman called out again with the same gracious smile. “Did you not find what you were looking for?”

Her English was thick with an accent as she looked hopefully towards the two.

“No,” Hannibal smiled politely.

“That’s too bad. Maybe I will see you around?” She tucked a long, dark strand of hair behind her ear that had fallen loose, a hopeful light to her eyes.

_ I hope not,  _ Will sighed. It wasn’t her fault he was jealous, but he got the feeling Hannibal didn’t care about that.

“Maybe,” Hannibal agreed lightly, steering them both out the door just as quickly as they had entered.

Will suppressed a groan, brushing his knuckles against Hannibal’s hand as they walked down the street. “I won’t eat dinner that night if you do.”

Hannibal just gave him a bemused smirk. “You would refuse a seat at my table based on what was being served?”

“Not in the sense that I object to what’s being served but rather whom,” Will explained. He wasn’t going to be the one that broke the ease between them that had been so hard-fought and won, but killing someone as young and innocent as that girl got under his skin. 

“She hadn’t done anything wrong,” he continued. “She wasn’t even rude.”

Hannibal smiled. “I would only target her to sate your jealousy.”

“It’s sated,” Will smiled tightly, a nervous twitch running through him. It wasn’t that he had forgotten how Hannibal demanded Will’s full undivided attention but that it had gone on the back burner of his mind. He hadn’t considered now that Hannibal would expect the same undivided attention to be asked of him.

The thought brought a selfish, indulgent smile to his face. 

The next store Hannibal brought him to was across the street with the same expensive look to its exterior.

Will entered without trepidation and went straight for another shirt, grabbing it and looking at the price tag.

“Hannibal,” he whined, turning to look at him.

“Will,” Hannibal sighed, an exasperated slant to maroonish brown eyes. “I need new clothes as well, would it make you feel better if I shopped too?”

Will worried his lip between his teeth. “I can’t afford this.”

“You can’t afford anything right now, my dear,” Hannibal spoke carefully, no condescending tones in his voice. “I am the only one who happened to have money set aside for going on the run.”

“I know. It just makes me feel uncomfortable,” Will sighed back, picking up a small in the shirt. “You’re like my sugar daddy right now.”

Hannibal frowned, blatantly appalled. “I despise that term.”

Will grinned, teasingly. “Want me to call you daddy now?”

“If that is something you would enjoy, I would not be the one to discourage it,” Hannibal stated simply.

Will looked away before he could see his blush, turning his attention to the slightly cheaper clothes than the store before.

Hannibal thankfully dropped the subject, doing the same. 

Will only picked out a handful of shirts and a few pairs of pants and thankfully, a pair of shorts for the hot weather. When he saw Hannibal had done the same, his pile sling over his arm and waiting patiently for Will to finish, he followed him up to the counter, trying not to overhear the price.

Hannibal remained unbothered by the entire affair.

The entire trip into the shops didn’t seem as though it had taken as long as it seemed but by the time they had walked out of the shop, bags in tow, it was already afternoon.

“Home?” Will asked, falling into step behind Hannibal, bags in hand.

“Perhaps a new watch first?”

Will frowned. He did miss the old watch he used to wear, the one Molly had given him on their anniversary that was lost to the Atlantic.

“Lead the way,  _ sugar daddy _ ,” Will quipped.

The armful of bags they had totted so far landed in the entryway, earning a frown of disapproval from the older, more tidy man. Will shrugged, promising himself to deal with the bags later when they get back. At the moment he was far too excited about what was to come. Hannibal followed suit, surprisingly, laying the bags he had carried from their shopping excursion down next to the pile that Will had made in a considerably more tidy fashion.

On the bench, next to the front door sat two helmets that Will had to ask himself how he had not noticed their presence when they had left earlier that morning.

Hannibal handed him one of the sleek black helmets that matched the bike, the front door still ajar. “Have you ever rode a motorcycle, Will?”

“A long time ago,” Will said stiffly, eyes drifting to the bike instead of focusing on Hannibal while he was talking. He hoped he would be forgiven for his rudeness, but excitement and dread at riding the contraption were getting to him. “College maybe.”

“Keep your arms around my waist to hold on and be sure the lean with me when we go around turns,” Hannibal explained, grabbing the second helmet.

“Got it.”

Hannibal shut the door behind them, walking down the steps as he slid on his helmet and swung a leg over the bike.

Will gulped, warning beneath the collar at the sight before doing the same, sitting snug behind him. His hips were pressed against Hannibal’s ass, arms draped his arms around Hannibal’s waist and a growl frozen in his chest at just how good it felt. He could imagine bending the man over by the sharp juts of his hips, holding his arms around his abdomen as he fucked into him so hard he would claw at the handlebars to hold onto. He could feel the coy smirk the man bore even through both of their helmets at how excited it was making him. 

It made Will shiver despite the humid, warm air and sun beating down on his back. They hadn’t gotten that far yet, Will chickening out every time that led to belated handjobs and blow jobs beneath the sheets. Hannibal had yet to say anything, not pushing in a rare moment of respecting Will’s boundaries.

Hannibal turned on the bike, thankfully ignoring his newfound appreciation for riding motorcycles with him and kicked up the stand.

Will rested his head against his shoulder, uncaring for the strange angle the helmet forced his neck at. His chest was against Hannibal’s back, feeling his steady breathing as he pushed off and the vibrations between his thighs grew. By the time he stood his legs would surely feel like jelly just as his hair would be a mess but he couldn’t be bothered to care.

Driving through the city was like a dream, leaning at every corner and tightening his arms when the speed picked up. The fast, sharp wind cut at his exposed arms, chilling him when he had been sweating when they started the ride, goosebumps up his arm. Will breathed in his scent, closing his eyes and relaxing against him in complete trust for the first time in a long, long time. The turns were so sharp their knees almost scraped the ground yet he felt no fear, only half paying attention to where they were going, too wrapped up in the new sensations and feelings.

They stopped much sooner than Will had expected, a sense of lost time sending a spike of panic between his ribs before he realized he hadn’t been paying attention rather than a new onset of a disease.

_ Museu Nacional de Belas Artes de Cuba _

Hannibal parked, leading the way into the startling tall, beautiful building. The architecture resembled that of a colosseum and once inside, ceilings of stain glass casting a beautiful glow on the floors beneath. Hannibal gave a donation while Will looked around the entrance, peeking around corners to try and catch glimpses of what was to come.

The museum was composed mostly of modern art as far as Will could tell, all about Cuban history, heritage and expression though different rooms and wings of the incredible buildings offered different themes. The art was beautiful, awe-inspiring even in his novice understanding of it. Hannibal did most of the talking, Will listening to him and adding his two sense when it was needed. He was more than happy to listen though, the low rumble of Hannibal’s voice was soothing as they wandered the halls, exploring.

Eventually, they ended up on a bench, sitting side by side and allowing their feet to rest before traveling through the rest of the museum. Will was taken back to the  _ Primavera _ when he was chasing Hannibal so long ago, the flash of emotion remembering how it felt to see him sitting there so calmly drawing, sitting next to him after so long. Will leaned closer, the small bench allowing their elbows to skim against each other.

They sat quietly, basking in the presence of each other and the art. A calm Will had never felt before settled over him, wondering if Hannibal felt it too.

It was a long time before Hannibal broke the silence. He pulled open his jacket, reaching into an inner pocket. Will watched him curiously as he produced a jewelry box with the same design as the store they had gotten his new watch from. It was small, ruling out the possibility of a second watch and Will couldn’t help but wonder what other type of jewelry he would wear.

He flipped open the top, presenting it to Will.

“A physical tie to bind us,” Hannibal explained.

The light glinted off of the ring surrounded in black velvet, a thin band of gold with a small diamond set in the middle. It was tasteful, better looking than his old one had even when he had first bought it. The shock of seeing the ring died down quickly, suddenly wondering why he had even felt surprised in the first place.

He didn’t feel the same jump in his heart as he had when he had proposed to Molly. This moment felt inevitable, an obvious answer to a question that did not even need to be asked.

Will shook his head, a hand going to his stomach where the worst of his scars were. The large smiley face was always there, more binding than any piece of metal could ever be. “We have more than enough physical ties to each other.”   
Hannibal didn’t waver. “So you refuse?”   
“I never said that. I’m asking why.”   
The man answered as if it was the easiest question in the world. “The world does not view our scars as anything more than the pain we’ve caused each other. If we were ever to be caught, I would want us to be known as more than pain.”   
“Are you planning to be caught?” Will hummed evenly despite the very notion sending a jolt of fear in his heart.

“A precaution. And should we ever encounter Uncle Jack, he would know our relationship without a question of manipulation. The man has a very serious view of marriage.”

Will scoffed. “You’re showing off for a man who thinks we’re dead. We should pay him a visit just to be sure he sees them.”

The comment was said offhand, not much thought behind it, but it still made him far more pleased than it should. 

“We should,” Hannibal agreed, noting the way it made the look in Will’s eyes grow wilder with desire, like the danger of the ocean and the madness of the forest was captured in the swirling pools of blue. “One day I also wish to take you back to the  _ Primavera _ , just to see you there in front of it again as if Botticelli had painted you himself, with a ring on your finger that symbolizes our bond. To see you there and know you as mine would be breathtaking.”

Will contemplated the sentence. “I’ve always been yours. Since the moment we met, I was yours. Hopelessly and helplessly devoted.”

“You have never been helpless.”

Will held out his hand, letting Hannibal take it and slid the ring down onto his finger, over the faded tan of his last.

“A marriage is considered a  solemn covenant between a wife, husband, and God,” Will spoke, examining the band. “I would have thought you found it to be boring.”   
Hannibal smiled. “This union has no room for God.” he reached into his pocket, producing another jewelry box with undoubtedly his band. Will suppressed the urge to snort. Of course, Hannibal would want to pick out his own wedding ring. “The bands, when removed, fit together. They are made of the same material, the same diamond split in two imbedded in the gold,” he offered up the box. “I made sure of it.”

Will smiled at that, opening the box to look at them both. They were identical, Will’s a size smaller being the only difference. “Only complete when they’re together. Fitting. God would be jealous if he were involved in this union.”

“He could never compete,” Hannibal nodded.

Will took his hand, sliding the band down his finger to match. “What should we say as vows?”

“Is there something left unsaid between us?”   
Will couldn’t be sure. “I doubt it.”   
“Then it’s settled.”

The moment passed with ease, no grand gesture of romance or notoriety as if the proposal as just another part of the museum. Still, it would be hard forgotten.

The ring no longer felt foreign on his hand by the time they left the museum. Climbing on to the motorcycle, wrapping his hands around his waist once again, the piece of metal felt more right than ever, a matching clink when Hannibal adjusted his grip and their rings met briefly before they were off, cruising through the streets of Cuba once again.

It was nearing dinner time but the hunger he felt gnawing at his stomach couldn’t only be attributed to the need for food. It was the need for Hannibal, the urge to make good on his fantasy from earlier on his new spouse.

While stopped at a light, a sign caught his attention through his lustful planning.

_ HELP WANTED _

The sign was placed outside of a garage, big red letters visible from the street not far from the docks. Boats sat out front of it with the tail ends hanging out of the doors meant for cars.

Will gave a pause, intrigued. Hannibal had mentioned that he should get out of the house and experience Cuba during their museum tour, and after the debt, he racked up just to buy some clothes, it might not be a bad idea. At least he wouldn’t be Hannibal’s sugar baby or whatever that was today. 

Besides, he did always love working on boat motors. It was calming, cathartic to have parts up to his elbow and oil grease under his nails.

Will smiled, tightening his arms around Hannibal’s waist as he sped up once again in the movement of traffic.

Despite the pleasant day they had had, the house was still a relief as they entered it, stepping over the mess of bags they had left earlier in the day. The temporary home was their shelter, a world made entirely of them and only them like an oasis in a world of desert.

The second the door shut behind them, Will was on him, grabbing Hannibal’s face in a hot, heavy, and bruising kiss. Hannibal yielded to him, allowing himself to be shoved hard against the door so Will could pin the slightly taller, bigger man and shove his tongue into his mouth. It was messy, all tongue and teeth yet Hannibal’s hands wrapped around Will’s neck never pushed him away.

Will only pulled away when he felt his lungs scream for air, gasping before diving back in, pawing at the suit jacket that Hannibal had worn until it fell off his shoulders and into the floor.

“We should move to the bedroom,” Hannibal grabbed the edges of Will’s shirt, pulling it gracefully over his head and into the floor with his discarded jacket.

Will could give nothing more than a nod, taking a hold of Hannibal anywhere he could: his wrist, his arm, his shoulder, by the scruff of his collar,  _ anything  _ to lead him up the stairs into their room. Hannibal followed willingly, straight into their room, door slamming behind him with a deafening sound.

They fell into the bed, Hannibal first with his head hitting the pillow harshly and Will following in behind him, knees trapping his hips down between them as he unbuttoned his remaining shirt that quickly joined the floor as well.

He bent down, kissing from his mouth, down his chin to his neck, each sweeter than the last before he found the place he wanted and sunk his teeth down into the tender skin. 

Blood was the first thing spilled as they consummate their marriage. Drops of red wept from the bite on the juncture of Hannibal’s neck and shoulder, the shudder and twitch of his skin beneath Will’s fingers sparking delight down into his very core. He couldn’t wait to see what the man would give him in return. He licked the blood clean, tracing the wound and dropping down his chest, kissing and mouthing at every inch of skin he could reach.

Will toyed at his chest, experimentally twisting and pinching his nipple, a small nip to the other not in his hand to see if it would draw out a reaction. Hannibal’s mouth fell open just the smallest fraction before he composed himself and shut it, bringing a feral grin to Will’s lips.

The next article of clothing to go was Hannibal’s belt. Will sat up, grinding his ass down against his slowly hardening bulge in his slacks as he unbuckled the latch, pulling the leather out and into the floor with a clang.

He moved on to unbuttoning and unzipping, playfully massaging the bulge just to see the flash in Hannibal’s eyes. Will made quick work of his pants from there, along with his shoes and boxers as well as his own with much less finesse.

Fully naked, exposed with no desire to hide from the predatory gaze that they eyed each other with.

Hannibal sat up, fumbling only slightly as he reached over to the bedside table, pulling open the vintage drawer and withdrawing its contents, presenting them to Will expectantly.

He didn’t bother to question when Hannibal had purchased lube, grateful that he had the forethought to purchase such a thing when Will had not. He took the tube that was offered to him, popping the cap that sent a buzz into the air, palpable anticipation radiating from them both.

“You would let me fuck you?” Will purred, leaning back over him and rubbing his thumb against the bruises he had left on Hannibal’s neck, hoping the pressure would make it purple quicker.

“I find there are very few things in this world I would not allow you to do to me, my dear boy,” Hannibal leaned his head up into the pillow, exposing his throat even more.

His words were humblingly sweet, the hard, desperateness melting out of Will if only for a brief kiss that was nothing but tender before it rushed back at the soft sound Hannibal let out.

He leaned back to give himself room to work, squeezing out lube onto his fingers, not even bothering to warm it as he sat back on his heels, slipping his hand between his thighs and down to his cheeks, parting the supple flesh to rub and tease the quivering entrance before pushing in. 

He wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing, going on past experience with women to guide his movements once again as he went from one finger to two. 

“Crook your fingers up,” Hannibal guided gently.

Will did, making his hips jerk and thighs shake.

Encouraged, he continued on, pumping his fingers in and out, free hand stroking over the skin behind Hannibal’s raised knee. The third made Hannibal’s eyes darken even more, pupils blown wide with lust. Will cooed at him softly, “are you all stretched out for me? I want to be as deep into you as you’ve always been in me.”

Hannibal visibly shivered, dropping the carefully maintained and controlled guard he always bore, nodding. “I’m ready for you.”

He slid his fingers out, resisting the urge to wipe them on the sheets as he fumbled for the lube that had slipped down the bed. Will squeezed a generous amount into his hand, taking himself in hand for the first time that night. His neglected erection twitched at the stimulation, quick strokes that served a purpose before he let steadied himself with a hand to Hannibal’s knee. He moved gradually, pushing into him until his bottomed out, hips pressed against his ass with no room left to give.

Will gasped, shuttering, a death grip on Hannibal’s hips. God, he was tight, squeezing like a vice around his cock. A whimper stuck in his throat, unable to stop the small, subtle rock of his hips that made Hannibal squeeze all the tighter around him. 

“Please, Will,” Hannibal begged, voice like honey in the thick air.

Will nearly came right then and there at the plea coming from Hannibal, something he had never even imagined hearing. The way he said his name twisted it into something unrecognizable, not his name but something close, like an endearment. The tone, the plea, his name, it all made him want to absolutely destroy the man. The desire to be ruthless and loving at the same time snaked its way into his thoughts, unsure which would win out if they’re even that different in the end. Whichever won out, he complied, moving his hips at a maddeningly slow pace, cock dragging against his slick inside and back in just the same. The teasing, slow thrusts continued until Hannibal reached up, grabbing Will by the neck and pulling him down to be only inches from each other again, Will’s hot breath hitting Hannibal’s chest where tiny goosebumps erupted in response.

“Do it right, Will,” Hannibal ordered in a cool voice, a reprimand in his tone. 

The order did something for him, a rush of heat added to the raging fire in his loin. He did as he was told, starting a new, quicker pace. The change of the angle let Will reach deeper, a pleased moan from Hannibal told him whatever it was that he was doing was working.

“Good boy,” Hannibal murmured softly, fingers ghosting against his jaw as he tilted his head up to look him in the eye. “Now tilt your hips higher to hit my prostate.”

His praise was like a knife cutting through the trance he was in, Will desperately craving to hear it again and again.

He did as he was told, rutting up in a slow and filthy drag, Hannibal suddenly clenching his hand around Will’s shoulders to ground himself being all the praise he needed.

Each thrust from then hit its target, short nails digging into his back as hard as possible as he carried on, clawing and urging him on with every bead of blood he drew. 

Will snarled at the soft moans that fell from his lips, every nerve in his body alight.

It was as perfect as he always thought it would be to look down at Hannibal, towering over him, knees aching from the position but he couldn’t care. Hannibal was  _ debauched.  _ His hair was disheveled, chest heaving and sweat dripping down bruised skin. His mouth hung in an open pant, eyes glazed and hooded, hard cock arching up against his stomach.

He felt raw, gutted at the way Hannibal caught his eyes, staring down into his very soul and mirroring it back to him. 

A short groan was punched out of the man below him at a particularly hard thrust. Will pounded into him, hoping with every move of his hips to hear that noise again.

He could live in this moment, he didn’t want it to ever end with Hannibal beneath him, body on fire with sensation, it couldn’t last long enough yet every step he took towards the edge he grew more desperate for it, muscles twitching and contracting with overwhelming, blinding pleasure.

When he came it was like a punch to the gut, knocking the wind out of him.

Will’s hips stuttered to a pause, a moan slipping free as he pumped into Hannibal, his hand never stopping the quick, slick movements over Hannibal’s cock, working him towards the same edge with every stroke. For a long moment with was just the sound of their panting, the careening of Hannibal’s hips as he chased the pleasure down that burned like a fire in the pit of his stomach, set ablaze by Will’s touch until he followed him over the cliff once again, come painting Will’s hand in a sheen of opaque white. 

In a sudden burst of inspiration, Will brought his hand to his mouth, never losing eye contact with Hannibal’s hooded gaze as he licked the mess clean.

He then grabbed hold of Hannibal’s thighs, parting them as he leaned down, licking a stripe of his come that had leaked free from his used hole, pushing in just enough to taste himself inside of him. His hips twitched, bucking at the feeling but Will didn’t let him escape, holding him down to swallow down as much as he could get, savoring the intoxicating taste.

It was filthy, obscene, and perfect, his cock twitching in interest when he crawled back over Hannibal’s body to grab his chin, pushing his tongue and the taste of them mingling together into his mouth, relishing the soft noise that he swallowed down just as greedily.

Will settled his body down next to his, sides brushing as Hannibal turned to face him, a hand finding its way to his neck, cupping his nape lovingly. They laid like that for what felt like an eternity, catching their breath before Hannibal spoke up.

“I should go fix dinner,” Hannibal moved, tracing up his spine and making him shiver.

Will looked at him hungrily, a fire burning in his eyes. “I could eat.”


	6. Feel the Fire and let me have this dance with you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal detests Will's new job and a fight leads to Will finding a new member to add to their family and together, Hannibal and Will go on their first hunt together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn it took me two weeks to write this again. We are also getting closer to the end! I was hoping to have around 10 chapters based on the outline I made.

Will took a long way home, weary to the bone from a long day at work. He had woken up and was out at the docks at six in the morning to work on a new engine that had come in the day before. Despite the communication differences, his boss was a kind man, if not a little harsh. He wasn’t always sure what he was saying but he complied easily enough, doing what was asked the best he could. It was therapeutic working with his hands all day long. He had to wonder why he hadn’t quit the FBI sooner before he met Molly; before he met Hannibal. He wished he had never stepped foot in Quantico at all. He could picture working on boat motors as his life. He could have had a house in Florida, down by the ocean with no insane blood-soaked life riddled with scars to be seen. Just dogs and boats, tanned skin, and whiskey.

That was the dream.

His new wedding band couldn’t be worn at work, too much danger of his hand getting caught in a motor or some other accident that hinged on the ring. He slipped his hand into his pocket, pulling out the cool metal and sliding it back on his finger where it belonged.

It felt odd being away from Hannibal for any amount of time still, even though he had been working for a full week now, a small amount of cash tucked into his back pocket for the week's work. He couldn’t decide if the man was purposefully being distant or if it was a trick of an over imagination but it was rare that he saw him these days. Even when Will wasn’t at work from dawn to dusk, Hannibal would mysteriously disappear for an insurmountable time, reappearing in their bed when night fell. He didn’t say anything when he opened the fridge and found a surplus of meat just as Hannibal didn’t say what was bothering him.

If they were ever in the home at the same time, Hannibal would disappear to sketch or read in an obvious avoidance of him. Will started to do the same out of spite, plopping onto the couch and opening a book, his feet on the coffee table just to irk him.

Will was sure he had done something to piss him off, he just wasn’t sure what it was exactly and Hannibal was ever the dramatic, keeping his lips sealed like the reason was a closely guarded secret. It was nerve-wracking.

The walk home was nice. Without the sun the blinding heat calmed, leaving just the humid air behind and a slight cool breeze. His nerves about wandering the city had calmed radically, each day getting better and better until there was only a subtle spike of anxiety under his skin. 

By the time he made it to the front porch steps, Will had worked up a sweat, damp behind the knees and across his forehead and back. At least out here in Cuba he had a reason to sweat as he does, everyone bore the same stains on their clothes from the humidity. The muck of the day clung to him from head to toe, a grease stain on his leg, black gunk under his nails, sweat, and oil and gas from the canister he spilled.

With a plan to make a beeline for the shower, Will was surprised as the door swung open to see Hannibal sitting in the armchair, an indiscernible book in his hands, and a scowl on his face.

“It’s nearly nine,” Hannibal didn’t look up, still pretending to scan the pages.

Suddenly he felt like a teenager coming home after curfew. The feeling dug at him, defensive towards his so-called equal.

Will took a deep breath. “It is.”

“And you left before I was even awake. Are we back to avoiding each other and pretending the other doesn’t exist?”

His tone was light, the kind he would take to talk about the weather. A subtle twitch to his expression was the only thing that gave away just how irritated he was.

“No,” Will frowned. “I had to get to the docks early-“

Hannibal finally glanced up, a look so sharp it felt like Will was being gutted all over again. His words died out on his tongue, any excuse or justification he had gone in an instant. 

They stared at each other, judgment radiating from Hannibal so hard he might as well kneel at his feet and beg the vengeful god in him for mercy.

Will broke first, fist clenched at his side. “It’s a job, Hannibal.  _ You’re _ the one who’s been avoiding  _ me  _ when I get home.”

“Having a job is necessary for you to have, naturally.”

Will blinked in disbelief. Hannibal was acting like this about him having a job?

“Naturally.” Will scoffed, anger bubbling inside him with every word that was said. 

A part of him wanted to storm off, to go shower, crawl into the other bed he hadn’t used in weeks, and to shut Hannibal and his dramatic, petty behavior out. The other part, the part he was more inclined to listen to, wanted the fight. A fight meant confrontation, a burst, and release of tension that never seemed to dissipate between them. They were always going to be either loving too extremely or fighting to the death. It was their very nature, engraved into their souls by a knife at each other’s hands.

“I can’t rely on you to buy everything for me forever, Hannibal,” he spat, the name like acid on his tongue.

The man raised an eyebrow at him, remaining silent despite whatever thought it was that he had riding the tip of his tongue.

“Do you  _ want  _ me to be your what? Kept boy?” Will snapped at his lack of an answer. He wanted him to break his facade and yell at him back, throw a punch, something other than the short snappy tone that he took.

Instead, he replied softly like he was talking to a scared animal. “Would that be so bad?”

“To be your kept boy, yeah for me it would be hell-“

“To be taken care of by me.”

Taken aback, Will’s mouth shut before his next sentence could begin.

He turned, walking back out the still gaping door, shutting it behind him with a quiet thump.

The silence of the night was startling to return to.

_ Why did I leave? _

Will asked himself the same question over and over as he walked quickly down the steps, infuriated and chastened at the same time.

He thought he was over _ this. _ This wretched twitch in his brain that stopped him from giving Hannibal his full forgiveness. It was too hard, too fresh of a wound to heal in only a few months. Once upon a time, he had trusted him to take care of him and watch out for him. It landed him in a mental hospital accused of crimes he didn’t commit.

Hannibal had taken everything from him. He couldn’t have something that wasn’t him. No job no friends no family no life apart from Hannibal, the manipulative insufferable bastard.

Will walked in a blind rage, not bothering to look and see where it was that he was going exactly. The further away from that house and that man the better.

Minutes or hours later, he turned down a dark alley, lit only by a lone street light, illuminating the dumpsters behind the restaurant he must be behind. He couldn’t keep track of the time anymore, glad that he had left the beautiful watch Hannibal had given him at home because he was having thoughts of throwing the ring on his hand. He couldn’t imagine what he would to a significantly less meaningful reminder of that man.

The alley smelt like rotten food, air foul and thick like a crime scene, the scenery resembling something out of a horror movie. This would be the part of the film where the crazed killer jumped out and beat him in the head with something and shoved him in the car, except the crazed killer was at home probably pouting over Will leaving the way he did. And he was also probably considered a crazed killer.

Will frowned, dropping the train of thought and continued down the rank alley.

As he got closer to the dumpster, a rustle of a bag being torn open made him pause. Whatever it was behind the dumpster that was tearing into the bags didn’t seem to know he was there because the sounds didn’t stop. The quiet snuffle of a nose in the quiet night though put his shoulders at ease.

He walked around the dumpster, encouraged by the sight of a long fluffy tail.

The dog alerted to his presence, stopped its scavenging for food, and stared at him, unmoving and cautious. Will crouched down, getting himself down on the same level as it and held out his hand.

“Come ‘ere, it’s okay,” he whispered sweetly.

The dog didn’t move.

“It’s okay, come’ ere,” he repeated. “Who’s a good… boy? Girl?” He gasped, babbling like he would a baby excitedly. “Are you a good dog? Come here lemme pet you!”

He probably wouldn’t even talk to a baby the way he did to scared dogs. It was a new level, a tone, an excitement he didn’t use any other time but it almost always worked without fail.

The dog came closer, out from the shadows.

Will let out a tiny sigh of relief that he didn’t have to go find a store for food to get it to come to him.

In the light he could see it was a shepherd of some kind, it’s fur matted and reeking of trash. Its sides were sunken in, ribs visible that made his heartache. There was no collar or rope around its neck but fearful eyes like that don’t come from not having a bad owner.

He continued to coo at the dog as it got closer, giving it a bright smile when it let him pet his head after an extensive sniff of his hand and a gentle lick on his knuckle.

“Yeah, you’re a good girl.”

A small wag was given in return, tail wiggling and ears back with another lick. Will scratched at her back, looking her over. He didn’t see any evidence of parvo or even fleas. He lifted her ears, looking inside before scratching them lightly.

He was transported back to Wolftrap in an instant. The warm air did nothing to deter the fantasy but he could see himself spending the rest of his night in the ally, loving on the dog, and taking her home to join his pack.

His heart panged for his old pack. Molly loved those dogs, she would care for all of them the best she could and he couldn’t ask for anything better, but he missed them horribly most days. The only loyal things to him in this world were his dogs. They never questioned his innocence or hurt him intentionally. No matter who had earned his forgiveness in the end, they had never needed it in the first place.

Will pursed his lips, eyebrow raised. He couldn’t very well leave her here to starve to death, rooting through the trash or being found by whoever owned her before.

The dog continued to smell around him, a hesitant excitement growing as she sniffed. “Checking it out, huh? Are you gonna come home with me?”

_ Oh, Hannibal would love that. _

Will pushed the door open, relieved to see the lights were out. He pulled the dog through the door, shutting it quickly behind him.

The bathroom downstairs was only equipped with a half bath which left only one option.

He kept a grip on the back of her neck, guiding her step by step up the stairs, sending a silent prayer to whatever god that still pitied him that they wouldn’t wake Hannibal. He didn’t want to carry her and risk startling her even more, but her nose and tail were going a hundred miles an hour, looking everywhere she could all at once and ready to take off to explore if his grip on her loosened even the slightest. 

They barely made it into the bathroom, and Will hoped desperately if they had woken the man, he would assume Will had just come home and went in for his ritualistic shower.

“Stay,” he commanded in a hard whisper. The dog didn’t so much as tilt her head, no sign that she understood the word.

“If you wake him up, he’ll kill me and you,” he warned her with a scratch behind her big fluffy ears. One flopped over at the movement and a happy pant left her as she sat down with a flop on the cold stone floor. He wasn’t sure how true his words were but he didn’t want to risk Hannibal’s ire until the morning.

Will stood, backing out of the room slowly. The dog tried to follow him immediately, nose at his knee to try and push past him and out of the room.

He barely managed to wiggle out of the room and shut the door behind him without her.

A sharp bark in protest made him cringe.

The following whine didn’t help.

And then she was all but throwing herself against the door to get out, barking wildly and crying.

Will ran back down the stairs frantically to the kitchen, throwing open the sink cabinet and grabbing the dish soap bottle, thankful that it was almost full and a cup before running back to the bathroom.

Hannibal was nowhere to be seen, but he was awake. There was no way he could sleep through all the noise if he was even asleep in the first place.

Will threw open the door, shushing the dog who immediately stopped barking, happy at his return.

With a sigh, he sat down the soap and the cup on the counter. There was the option of putting the dog into the shower, which would probably be the easiest on his back since the showerhead detached, but showers made dogs panic sometimes, and he didn’t want to risk it.

Instead, he turned to the bathtub that had remained unused since they began living here.

The pristine white of the tub was immediately stained brown when the dog jumped into Will’s insistence. He glanced back at the door, wincing at the claw marks and mud on the door and the floor, on the nice rug in front of the sink. 

He cooled down the water, dumping cups full of it all over her, grimacing when the water turned brown.

“What should we name you huh?” He asked her, giving her another once over.

A matted spot on her shoulder caught his attention and upon further inspection, there was dried blood. His stomach churned at the way the dog flinched back from him, trying to wiggle away. He shushed her, looking at the long thin slice. It looked to be some days old, maybe even weeks, but it was still worrying with the amount of germs that were probably in it.

“Poor puppy. You want me to kill your people for you? I will. I will,” he smiled, baby-talking again. “We’ll get Hannibal to look at that. He’s a doctor. He would probably name you something goofy like Venus or Artemis. What about… Lucy? Daisy? Bailey?”

The last one had a ring to it. He and Molly always gave the dogs generic names like Buster, Winston, Randy. Bailey would have fit into the mix just fine.

He soaped I’ll her head and neck, doing his best to be gentle on her shoulder when the bathroom door creaked open.

“You refuse to talk to me, storm out of the home, and come home with a mutt?”

Will scowled at the voice behind him, not even giving him the satisfaction of turning around. “No. You were being unreasonable, I left, and found a dog that I couldn’t bring myself to ignore.” Will picked up the soap and squeezed more out onto the dog’s back.

They stood in silence, nothing but the happy pants and splashes of water to fill the room.

“I’m sorry.”

The words were deathly quiet, barely audible but there all the same.

Will stopped, turning his head to look at the man over his shoulder.

For his worth, he did manage to look guilty with himself, though the term apologetic was a stretch.

“I feel very protective of you,” Hannibal began.

“No.”

Hannibal frowned at the rude interruption.

“Hannibal, we are the textbook definition of unhealthy. You are controlling and manipulative and  _ rude _ . You can’t expect to control me like a puppet if you want this to work.” Will turned back, raising the cup to rinse the soap out, pleased to see the dog was not a brown and black shepherd but white and brown with its fur clean. “I can’t have a job, suppose you’re going to take this dog from me as well?”

“Don’t be petty,” Hannibal chastised, though he didn’t deny it. 

“You are more than petty,” Will countered, dumping the last bit of water onto her back before draining the tub. “Come take a look at her shoulder.”

Will didn’t expect him to do as he was asked. In all honesty, he almost expected hands around his throat for the plain disrespect in his tone.

His surprise was palpable when Hannibal rolled up his sleeve with a sigh and crouched down next to Will on the bathmat. Skilled fingers ran through the damp hair, pushing it away from the cut.

“Well, I am no veterinarian but I would say that it is a relatively shallow cut. I see no signs of infections, we will just need to keep it clean with a disinfectant.”

Will couldn’t help the twitch of his lips. “We?”

“You are a rude, tiresome boy,” Hannibal turned to look at him. “And I love you deeply no matter how much your behavior irks me.”

“You knew that I was rude and tiresome from the moment we met,” Will countered, his words warming the cold ache in his heart.

Hannibal smiled at that. “I certainly did. Now, when you’re done, come to bed, please. The dog will have to sleep somewhere else though, I will not allow it in the bed no matter how much you are endeared to it.”

Will finished bathing her in a daze, mind racing at whatever it was that awaited him in the bedroom. He had half a hope that it was makeup sex instead of more arguing.

He toweled her off, letting her out of the bathroom and watching silently as she raced down the stairs to examine the room he had denied her to do earlier.

After a quick shower and clean up of the bathroom, he tried not to run as he made his way to the bedroom.

Hannibal was waiting for him underneath the blankets, looking soft and warm in the lamplight with a book in his lap, dawning his favorite sweater. Will wanted to crawl underneath it with him, press his body close enough for them to become one and the same.

Hannibal looked up, shutting his book and setting it to the side and pulled back the blankets in a single motion.

Will dropped the towel around his waist, crawling into bed with a sly smile at the way Hannibal’s eyes dilated, the heavier draw of breath that followed at the sight.

He didn’t reach for him much to Will’s disappointment. Instead, he spoke, “It is true that I want your full and undivided attention. It is also true that I have taken many things from you to earn that attention.”

Will pulled the blankets over his lap with disappointment that made Hannibal five a slight half-smile.

“I will not be doing that again. All I ask is that if you insist on having  a job,  then please cut down the hours. I do not enjoy you being gone for entire days.”

Will nodded, understandably. He hadn’t enjoyed it when Hannibal would disappear just as long. “Okay. I will talk to my boss who is much, much nicer than Jack Crawford ever was. I’m sure he won’t mind.”

Hannibal seemed quelled by the answer, letting Will invading his space for a long, peaceful kiss, crawling into his lap even though sex was not an option tonight by the way Hannibal stopped him. He guided his back to rest against his still covered chest, head on his shoulder, and arms around his waist.

“So you forgive me?” Will asked quietly after some time.   
Hannibal gave a nod. “If you forgive me.”

“Would you ever leave me?” the words left his mouth before he could stop them, his worst fear bared to Hannibal in an instant. “Find someone else to run away to Florence with again?”

“No, mylimasis,” the man kissed his hair.

“You seemed all so willing when you did it with Bedelia,” Will couldn’t keep the bitterness from his voice at the name. “Figured it may not be a stretch for it to happen again.”

Hannibal’s arms around him tightened ever so slightly. “You had upset me a much greater deal then than you have now.”

Will scowled. “So if I upset you again, you would do it again.”

“No. If you betrayed me in that way again, we will both die,” Hannibal spoke simply.

The thought was strangely reassuring.

“Are you asking because you genuinely fear a recurrence of the act or out of jealousy?”

Will tensed, unable to relax at the gentle rubbing of his arm. “Jealous?”   
“It would only be natural to be jealous of Bedelia. I replaced you with her, she was a dear friend of mine, perhaps one of the only few people I would consider a friend.”

Will fell silent, not answering Hannibal and giving him the answer he sought all the same. It was painfully obvious, Will cringing when he felt Hannibal’s delight at his jealousy.

“Did you mean it?” Will asked lazily after a while, trailing his fingers through Hannibal’s thick chest hair, gazing lazily up at him from his shoulder.

“Did I mean what exactly?” Hannibal returned his gentle strokes down his arm.

“When you agreed we should pay Jack a visit before we go to Florence?”

He had been dwelling on the interaction since it had occurred. Every thought he had on the matter led to the same answer for him. He wanted to see Jack and he wanted to kill him. And Bedelia, Frederick, Freddie, every last one of them that he had met since this entire thing began. Bedelia in particular for taking his place, Jack for dragging him kicking and screaming until his mind broke, Freddie just because she was annoying, Frederick too. Alana as well.

Hannibal contemplated it for a moment. “I believe that could be arranged.”

Will gave him a lopsided grin. “Good. I also want to go hunting tomorrow.”

Hannibal tensed behind him.

Joel Carter.

The name left a bad taste in his mouth.

Will could see why Hannibal saw them as nothing better than pigs. He wasn’t sure that he would ever truly understand what Hannibal saw before the fall. It had been hard being able to empathize so deeply with someone to the point of becoming them to then turn and see them as nothing but livestock. Now though it was almost like a switch had been flipped in his brain. He could empathize and detach himself, Hannibal’s voice engrained in every thought reminding him of what they were. Rude pigs.

That’s all they were in the end.

Hannibal agreed to let Will do what he wanted, only observing this time and hanging behind to watch his mongoose work, stepping in if he needed him.

He picked the victim. He stalked him, followed him to his home, did his research to make sure this was the person he wanted to kill. In the end, Will was still Will no matter how warped and twisted he had become. The thought of doing bad things to bad people still made his blood sing more than doing the same to someone undeserving.

It wasn’t hard to find the person who had Bailey before him. The dog was so sweet, still skittish of loud noises or fast movements. It broke his heart every time she cowered from him or hid. She had taken a liking to Hannibal much to his reluctance, often crawling up to sleep beneath his feet while he cooked or read. He had been the one to ask around because of Will’s limited Spanish, assuring him that Joel Carter was in fact the pig meant for slaughter.

The murder suit was crinkly, hot, and sticky clear plastic clung to him. Hannibal had promised the more he used it the better it would feel but he was beginning to question that. Besides that, they both looked ridiculous. Will snorted when Hannibal walked out until he saw the matching suit in hand.

They waited until night fell and the city life quieted before they made their move. The back door to his home wasn’t hard to break with a crowbar. He was sure that Hannibal had a much more sophisticated way of getting in but Will was doing his best.

The man was asleep on the couch, tv humming quietly in front of him as the only light int he room, casting everything in shifting shadows with a laugh track playing in the distance.

Hannibal stood faithfully by the door, observing him. A thrill ran down his spine, adrenaline making his hand near shake as he snuck up quietly to his victim. He swung a leg over the man’s stomach, plopping his full weight down on him so he awoke with a startling jolt. Hands immediately found Will’s trying to push him off with a wild and terrified look in his eyes at the stranger sitting on top of him.

Before he even had the chance to shove Will off or fight back, Will withdrew the hunting knife he had brought with him.

He grinned, wild and feral, making eye contact with Hannibal before plunging the knife down into his victim. 

Hannibal froze, savoring the gleam in Will’s eyes, watching with rapt attention blood spattered onto his chin that he licked at with a deft tongue. He looked deranged as he dragged the knife down from chest to the sternum, madness tainting every move. The man’s screams died out, heartbeat slowing down as it pumped blood out into the gaping wound in his chest.

Will grabbed his ribs on both sides, the sickening sound of bones cracking filling the air when he pulled them apart, snapping some in two. He reached in and pulled out the man’s still-beating heart, holding it out for Hannibal with a bloody smile.

Hannibal let out a snort of amusement, finally crossing the room. “You know, some hunters still practice eating the raw heart of their first kill.”

“He isn’t my first kill,” Will held it out again to Hannibal expectantly. “Randall Tier, Dollerhyde-”   
“No,” Hannibal took the heart from him, sitting down lightly on the coffee table in front of them for lack of a better place. “But he is your first intentional hunt.”   
Will didn’t refuse this time when Hannibal held the heart back out to him. He leaned down, taking the meat into his mouth and biting down hard, grating his teeth to pull the muscle apart. It was slippery with blood, copper tasting in his mouth that he quickly swallowed down, never looking away from the brown eyes watching him so closely.

Will was a messy killer. “Sorry,” he spoke, gesturing to the mess when Hannibal stood, ready to get to work. Hannibal only kissed him in return, not minding the smear of blood that transferred one chin to the next.

“You’ll get better. Next time we will choose someone less personal,” Hannibal assured him. “The less personal the less mess.”

“Or more personal,” Will supplied. “When we go home.”

“I’m afraid you aren’t in your right mind right now,” Hannibal whispered, trying to grab at Will’s arms to prevent his pawing at Hannibal’s clothes.

They had gone straight home, stocking the already full fridge and cleaned themselves up. Bailey was fed and loved on, sleeping happily in the living room when they made their way to their bedroom.

“I’ve never been in my right mind when I’m with you,” Will growled, nipping at Hannibal’s lip. “I want you to fuck me.”

“Will…”

Will’s eyebrow twitched in irritation, blue eyes near black. “I am in my right, sane mind. My name is Will Graham,” Will shoved him down onto the bed, straddling his waist much in the same way he had Joel Carter. “It is sometime after 2 in the morning in Havana Cuba, I’m in our house in our bed. Do you want me to draw a clock, Dr. Lecter? Or are you going to touch me?”

He didn’t miss the jolt that ran through him at his words. Will gave him a coy look as he pulled off his shirt- not a speck of blood on it thanks to the ridiculous-looking murder suit. “You enjoy it when I call you Dr. Lecter.”

His voice was gravelly, heavy with arousal.

Hannibal gave in, placing his hands around his hips with a shameless smirk. “I do.”

Hannibal’s shirt went next, falling on to the bed. Amusingly as if on cue his eyebrow twitched in irritation briefly but did not comment. “Do you want to pretend this is part of my therapy?”

“No,” Hannibal pulled him in for a kiss, whispering against his lips. “I do not wish to pretend between us, ever.”   
“Mmm,” Will hummed. “You just enjoy the power imbalance, then being called doctor. You enjoy the authority it holds.”   
“I do,” he agreed again.

Some awkward maneuvering later, Will’s pants and underwear joined the pile of discarded clothes, Hannibal’s following in between breathless, messy kisses.

Will smiled against his chin. “Are you going to fuck me, Dr. Lecter?”

“If you want me to, sweet boy I will gladly take you.”

The man captured Will’s lips once again, guiding him off of him and onto the bed, his head hitting a pillow softly while Hannibal sat up fully once again.

He ruffled through the bedside table for a moment. Will took the time to admire him from behind. His back was all smooth and defined muscles, dips, and curves that promised power and strength beneath his soft pale skin. His ass was perky, bent at this angle made Will’s mouth water with need, but that wasn’t going to happen tonight. At the base of his neck was the scarred over remains of the verger brand, only a thick white scar that was barely distinguishable anymore. Will couldn’t help but smile at the sight. “I love all your scars, Dr. Lecter.”   
Hannibal gave him a soft smile over his shoulder. “And I yours, Will. They tell our story.”

His hands drifted to his stomach instinctually, the smile on full display. There was once a time where he would shrink from it, shy away from mirrors when shirtless. Now the thought of it warmed his chest. Their first fight had ended much worse than any of the others since.

Hannibal bent back down, moving books, papers, and passports around in the drawer before producing the bottle of lube and climbing back onto the bed graceful as a cat.

The pop of the cap made him shiver in anticipation.

Hannibal squirted the lube into his hand, warming in between his fingers before leaning over Will who spread his legs.

The first finger was uncomfortable and nothing like what he expected it to feel like. He squirmed, rocking himself down on the digit to inspire the same groans of pleasure he had drawn from Hannibal.

“Patience, Will,” Hannibal chided, unrelenting in his slow and steady pace.

“Please, Dr. Lecter?” Will whined, begging for another, pleased to get the same reaction out of the man at the title as before. Hannibal ignored him, fucking the single digit in and out at a maddeningly slow pace despite his sighs of displeasure.

The second finger was much the same except for the stretch burning more.

Then he curled his fingers.

Will’s breath left him in a gasp, an electric shock riding up his spine that made his back arch off the bed. He ground down on his hand, chasing the overwhelming feeling as much as he tried to get away. There was no middle ground anymore between too much and not enough with the way Hannibal rubbed at his prostate.

Will whined between his teeth, whole body turned into a live wire. He gripped the sheets, pulling on them as Hannibal expertly worked him over, muscles flexing with every pump of his fingers inside him. 

It was so good. Weird, but good in a way he could never have imagined. Every touch burned him to his very core and an endless stream of babble left his lips stating as such.

“Oh God, oh God, Dr. Lect- Hannibal please… need more, need-need something, I-”

“Shh,” Hannibal leaned down at his desperate pleas, pressing a kiss to his lips. “I’ll take care of you, sweet boy.”

The words reminded him of their earlier fight but he had no time to dwell on the implications. He felt like a puppet, the way Hannibal was toying with him, every inch on fire. Three fingers inside of him stretched until he was sure he couldn’t stretch farther, a thumb against his balls rubbing teasingly until he thought he could cry. Will’s hips canted on instinct, knees spread wide and inviting, his shoulders ached from digging so hard into the bed but he couldn’t care.

By the time he pulled his fingers out he was a slick, sweaty and panting mess, blue eyes glazed over and pupils blown wide.

Suddenly he was pulling away completely, Will following mindlessly in an effort to stay close. Hannibal laid back against the bed, propped up by the pillows and headboard behind him, and looked at Will expectantly, arms open and inviting.

Understanding, Will resumed his earlier position of straddling him, thighs bracketing lean hips, their cocks pressed and leaking against one another.

He looked to Hannibal for guidance once again, unsure where to go from there.

Hands around his hips and a look of adoration on Hannibal’s face gave him the confidence he needed. He slowly adjusted himself and lowered down on his cock, relief bursting when he was filled once again accompanied by a deep ache that stole his breath away.

“Slow,” Hannibal guided gently, the grip he had easing his movements to a slow slide until he was fully seated. “Good boy.”

Will’s entire being lit up at the praise. “Dr. Lecter…”

The man was an expert at controlling himself, keeping up a carefully placed facade no matter the circumstance yet he found himself dropping it in front of Will like this. His face gave away every emotion he felt all at once at the name like an open book: hunger, arousal, lust. Will reveled in it, unable to wait for a second longer.

He rose on his knees, grinding his hips down on his cock and ignoring the twinge of discomfort that followed. 

The hand on his neck was comforting, the soft sound he drew from Hannibal urging him on. He looked into his deep maroon eyes, nothing but love found staring back. It was always startling to see such emotion in Hannibal. He couldn’t recall ever seeing him so open before the fall, except for maybe before he gutted him.

He set a slow and easy pace, trying to catch his bearings and find something he could be comfortable doing.   
“Dr. Lecter,” Will murmured. “I’ve never done this before, I don’t know what I’m doing.”   
His hand found Will’s hip, guiding him gently. “I know sweet boy, you are doing perfectly.”

Will continued rocking in shallow movements, growing used to the fullness he was sure he had never experienced in his life. 

He could see the way Hannibal’s body tightened in a fight to fuck up into the vexingly tight heat around him. Will wanted him to break that composure more than anything.

Will removed one of his hands from Hannibal’s shoulder, running it across his chest to pinch at his own nipples. He rolled the sensitive skin between his fingers, whimpering at the sensation and never stopping the slight thrusts.

Hannibal watched him with an amused glint in his eyes. “You are utterly maddening. Absolutely stunning.”

The hand on his neck became a grip around his throat and his hip, using it to guide him up and down at the pace he wanted. He dug his thumb into his neck, not enough to constrict the air but enough to suggest it.

The threat would have once set him on edge, no doubt still aroused but with an air of caution. Now he leaned into it eagerly with full trust. He allowed himself to be moved however Hannibal directed him to. He changed the angle, changed the pace, arched his back more, exposed his throat more anything and everything he asked of him he was willing to give.

“Anything for you, Will,” Hannibal answered his thoughts. Or was he speaking out loud? It was hard to tell the difference like this; overwhelmed with touch and adoration all at once.

”You could ask for the world and I would give it to you.”

Will couldn’t stop the whimper from escaping his throat. His legs ached as Hannibal increased the pace but he could worry about how sore he was going to be in the morning. Now the only thing on his mind was Hannibal. Hannibal grabbing his throat, squeezing tighter and tighter as they went, Hannibal nailing his prostate with every thrust and drawing sweet noises from him that would be embarrassing come morning. Hannibal was consuming him entirely. He felt lost, following him blindly through the overwhelming pleasure.

Everything tightened like a coiled spring inside him, releasing all at once with a bang.

His thighs shook threatening to give out with the force of the orgasm ripping through him. Muscles aching, he clung to Hannibal like a lifeline, mouth gaping and eyes squeezed shut, gasping for air that he couldn’t get enough of.

The hand on his cock stilled when his death grip in Hannibal’s hair relaxed and his body unlocked from its rigid stance but his hips did not. Will did his best to keep moving too, clenching and squeezing around him until he too came to a still inside him.

The sudden flood of wetness inside him was strange but not unwelcome. Hannibal held him close, aborted twitches of thrusts fucking the cum deeper inside him.

Will sighed happily, resting his head against Hannibal’s shoulder in a post-orgasmic haze, catching a glimpse of a matching dazed smile mirroring his on his partner’s face.


	7. Someone Else's Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'd crawl in bed with you  
> Even on someone else's blood  
> On top of someone else's love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the chapter I was most excited to write and now I don’t know if I like it or not. Let me know what you think of it though in the comments!

Will came up behind Hannibal, laying a kiss on his cheek. The warmth that bloomed in his chest at the sight of him and Bailey sitting on the couch was too much to handle; Bailey laid curled up next to him, Hannibal’s hand buried in her hair, even though he was the one who said no dogs on the furniture.

“You broke your own rule,” Will laughed, scratching Bailey on the head gently, her tail thumping wildly against the cushions.

Hannibal just hummed. “She is a remarkable animal. She reminds me of the sheepdog I had when I was younger.”

Will looked at him curiously, face scrunched. He had never heard Hannibal speak of when he was younger. 

“You had a dog?” He prompted, sitting down in front of Bailey who licked eagerly at his hand.

“Yes. I’ve forgotten his name sadly but my sister loved him dearly,” Hannibal put down his book on the coffee table, giving Will his full attention.

Will sighed, leaning against the couch over Bailey, her paws kicking against his back excitedly. “I hardly know anything about you. I knew you had a sister but that’s it. You know everything about me.”

Hannibal regarded him for a moment before answering. “I do not like discussing it because of how painful it was but I will tell you if you want,” Hannibal paused and Will took a breath, steeling himself. If it was painful for Hannibal, it must have been awful yet still, he gave a nod, wanting to know.

He hated being right.    
“ I was very close to my sister when I was little, very protective. My parents were distant, but my sister and I were always together, playing with the animals around the castle. World War II came and went and my parents were killed by a German Stuka after the war. Then my sister was murdered and consumed. I was too small to stop them.”

Will gaped at him, taken aback.

“I’m so sorry,” Will reached out, putting his hand over his.

Touch had become an easy thing between them, a stark difference from their life before.

Hannibal looked away. “I ate her. Well, I was fed her. And my home became an orphanage that I had to return to until my uncle found me.”

Will didn’t let him shrink away from him, holding tighter onto his hand until Hannibal relented and looked back to him.

“It was a long, long time ago. I’m no longer a boy, and my life has significantly improved since then,” Hannibal kissed his hand before changing the subject. “I believe you are the only person besides Chiyoh who knows the full fate of my family.”

He looked to Bailey who had grown tired of Will sitting over her and hopped off the couch, wandering off to her water bowl in the kitchen. “I am growing more and more fond of her as the days go on. We will have to make the appropriate arrangements to get her to Florence.”

Will’s lips quirked. “So we can take her with us?”

“Of course, mylimasis. We can board her for the time we are taking care of business in the states and then pick her up when we arrive.”

Will paused, a prickle of fear under his skin. “What if we get caught?”

“We won’t,” Hannibal assured him gently. 

“Should we be doing this?”

The question had been plaguing him day and night since this frankly insane plan had come to light. They were presumed dead. They could just leave it that way and go on with their lives. It was a chance to start over and get away from their old lives. This would be thrusting them back in at full force.

“That is entirely up to you, but…”

Hannibal suddenly stood and crossed the room into his study. When he emerged again, he had a tablet in hand, one that Will hadn’t known they had.

Suspicion crept up his spine. He hadn’t been on the internet lately. No phone, no tablet or computer, they didn’t even have a tv for God's Sake.

The isolation from the outside world hadn’t been a rule between them but it had been assumed, and Hannibal knew that Will guessed. There was no other reason to hide the existence of the device from him.

“I have been monitoring the news since we have been here,” Hannibal explained, sitting back down on the couch with him.

Will took the tablet from him, turning it on. It felt odd in his hand, heavy and the screen overly bright as he turned it on and swiped it open. 

Immediately the device opened to  _ Tattlecrime.  _ Just the name made the hair on the back of his neck stand up, a sneer twitching on his nose at the thought of one Freddie Lounds.

“Murder husbands live,” Will read out loud. “Sightings and suspicious deaths in…” his blood ran cold. “Cuba.”

Hannibal took the tablet back. “It was posted a week ago. Either we were found months ago by Ms. Lounds or-”

“Joel Carter,” Will grimaced. “We were too obvious with that kill, she knew it was us.”

“If Freddie Lounds managed to come up with enough information it is likely that Jack has done the same and will be on his way soon.”

“But Cuba doesn’t have an extradition treaty with the US.” Will stammered. “He can’t.”

Hannibal fixed him with a look.

“He would,” Will sighed.

Hannibal nodded. “I spoke to Bedelia and asked her to keep an eye on his movements. He’s on our trail.”

Will glared at the name. “You spoke to Bedelia.”

His jealousy was met with a delighted smile.

“Shut up,” Will snapped before he could comment.

“I didn’t say anything you rude boy,” Hannibal didn’t bother to keep the laughter from his voice, light and airy.

Will reached up, cupping Hannibal’s cheek, a hard press of a thumb against his chin. “When we get home, I am going to pay her a visit.”

Hannibal hummed. He was unable to tilt his head in the curious way he always did but he still managed it with his eyes. “And what are your plans upon visiting her?”

“Invite her to dinner,” Will hummed, pressing a kiss to his jaw.

“Would you allow me to do the same to your wife?”

Will froze, a sting of something indescribable in his heart.

“I want to,” Hannibal pulled him closer by his elbow, his warm touch scalding with his cold tone. “Bedelia only played my wife. Molly was actually yours. Would you allow me to do the same?”   
No.

No.

“Yes,” Will whimpered, eyes shut tight as if that would stop Hannibal from seeing how much he did not want that to happen. He knew though, even if he didn’t like it, he wouldn’t be the one to stop him. He wouldn’t participate, wouldn’t dream of laying hands on Molly but he knew.

He knew if Hannibal wanted to he wouldn’t be the one to stop him.

“I wouldn’t do it,” Will stated quickly. “I wouldn’t help you, I wouldn’t go with you, I wouldn’t even eat her and you can’t hurt Wally. If you hurt a child, Hannibal, my child  _ again _ I can’t-”   
Hannibal stopped him with a gentle look and a brush of his hair out of his eyes.

Will took a shuttering breath through his panicked resolve.

“I am nowhere near the vengeful god you are, Will,” Hannibal kissed his hair. “I was just curious if you would say yes.”

Will didn’t even try to pull away anymore when Hannibal upsets him. Anger simmering, he bit it down with calm words. “You were testing me.”   
“Yes.”   
“Did I pass?”   
Hannibal gave him a chaste kiss to the lips. “With flying colors.”

  
  
  


The trip to the airport was much less stressful than it had been months ago, entering Cuba. Will didn’t feel the need to cling to Hannibal anymore out of anxiety but now held his hand out of wanting as they walked. He was still and would probably forever be a source of comfort for him, but he didn’t mind. Their relationship was unhealthy, codependent, and cruel. He didn’t want that to change.

Will trusted Hannibal blindly as they boarded, not even checking his passport that the man had procured for them. Instead, he relaxed in the first-class seats, sipping on a glass of wine that he had let Hannibal pick out for him. It was a sweet, dry merlot opposed to whatever it was that Hannibal had ordered.

The wine made him woozy, not enough to be drunk but certainly not sober. He rested his head against his husband, admiring how the ring glinted next to the wine glass. They chatted ideally about the dinner they would be having until they arrived at the Norfolk International Airport, tonight’s dinner, and choice of meat settled on.

By the time they made it to Baltimore in their rental car, it was just in time to start the said dinner. Will was almost hyper obsessed over it, all too eager and thrilled at the thought of extracting the source of his jealously from the world.

Hannibal dawned a sharp suit, looking every bit like the renowned therapist he used to be. It was one that Will had a matching suit to, though he didn’t pair it with a paisley tie like the other man did. Still, even he had to admit that they looked good for tonight. The jacket and pants were both plain black, Hannibal wore a red paisley tie while Will left his unbuttoned some, unwilling to do the same. He even attempted to tame his wild curls into something more appropriate, trimming his scruff and wearing his best shoes.

Will knew objectively who Hannibal preferred, but all common sense went out the window when he pictured how beautiful Bedelia is. With her perfect blonde hair, lean body, and calculatingly sharp eyes. He could picture them in Florence where he should have been, having dinner together, sharing a bed, a perfect husband and wife duo.

It made his blood boil.

Something ugly and evil, full of hatred reared its head in his chest at the thought.

Hannibal kept his arm around his waist loosely as they made their way up the steps to Bedelia’s home. It was just as beautiful as its owner: all brick and asymmetric shapes of brown and tan. The lights were on, glowing softly in the cold air. Despite his love for warm weather, there was something to be said about Baltimore’s weather, the frozen ground crunching underfoot on the cusp of spring, and subtle gusts of wind that felt like home.

Will knocked on the door, almost expecting her not to answer. He wouldn’t if he was in her position. He would probably high tail it out the backdoor and not look back if a suspicious knock came in the evening knowing they were still out there.

Then he heard the light click of heels on the hardwood floor.

The door swung open, Bedelia wearing a confused frown with a wineglass clutched lightly in one hand. She wore dark-framed glasses, dressed casually as if she had just gotten home from somewhere, perfect hair curled in soft twists that fell around her shoulder on one side. Will wanted to reach out and grab it, use it to pull her to the floor, and strangle her.

But he had agreed to dinner first so he refrained.

Her expression turned from confused to horror as pale blue eyes searched first over Will and then to Hannibal.

“Hannibal,” she breathed, a frightful twinge in her voice that delighted the darker parts of his heart. He wanted to hear more of it, for the terror to completely overtake her as she was hunted like the prey she was.

“Bedelia,” Hannibal smiled pleasantly, holding up the bottle of wine that he had picked up on their way over. “We thought we would surprise you for dinner.”   
“Meats back on the menu,” Will supplied with a cheerful sneer, repeating the phrase back at her that was once a warning long ago.

She glared at him with a strained smile. “I don’t suppose I should tell you that I’ve already eaten for the night.”   
“There is always room for a snack.” Hannibal chuckled.

With a small, distressed noise veiled behind a smile, she backed up, letting her killers into her home without a fight. It would do no good to run, no good to fight.

The door shut behind them, trapping her in the lion’s den.

Bedelia was careful to keep her back to the door as her uninvited guests made their way into her home.

“You have a beautiful home,” Will smiled courteously at her. “Have I ever told you that?”   
She narrowed her eyes. “No,” her tone was pleasant and just as forced as her smile. “You haven’t.”

“I’d like a house like this when we go to Florence,” he hummed. “The one in Cuba was nice but too close to people.”

“Perhaps we’ll buy land and build,” Hannibal hummed from the kitchen, making himself at home.

Will followed from the entryway, admiring the way Hannibal, who had shed his jacket, rolled up his sleeves over his forearms, the strong muscles underneath flexing as he did so. The long pale scars made him smile at the sight like his own personal brand on the man.

Bedelia said nothing, unmoving in the doorway of the kitchen as if she was still debating on what to do with herself.

“Shall we open some wine?” Hannibal asked, drying his hands to prompt his two lovers of past and present into action.

Will nodded, hoping the wine would relax him some.

“Of course,” Bedelia spoke graciously with a tight-lipped smile, crossing the kitchen and opening a wine pantry. “I suppose a congratulation is in order? Or are those for show like ours were?”

Will gave her a lopsided grin. “The rings are real.”

“Hannibal the cannibal Graham,” she hummed before changing the subject. “White or red?”

“Anything red will do,” Hannibal encouraged, turning to Will who didn’t miss the twitch on his face at her blatantly rude comment. “My dear, will you get the supplies from my coat?”

Will did as he was told, finding Hannibal’s jacket pocket that was hung over one of the chairs at the table he had claimed as his and pulled the syringe and vile of anesthetic he had thought to bring. Will didn’t bother to question where he got it from, probably the same place he got the drugs to give him that day on the boat.

Bedelia pulled the wine down and handed it to Hannibal. She never looked away from Will, watching him carefully as if he was the most dangerous person in the room and not the Chesapeake Ripper pouring wine into two glasses next to her, the third empty.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to wait for yours until after,” Hannibal smiled to Bedelia. “We don’t want it to interact with the drugs.”

Her entire frame seized up. 

“Right.” she squeaked.

“Will, I trust you to handle the vegetables while I prepare the meat. Some potatoes would be nice if you can find them, and an orange, any leafy greens as well.”

Will nodded, handing him the drug and needle. He gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek in thanks before turning his attention to Bedelia. “To your bathroom then.”

She followed willingly despite the terror coursing through her veins. Will guessed she was relying on Hannibal’s promise not to kill her as they made their way up the stairs.

Will turned his attention to the kitchen. Luckily the wooden cutting board was sitting out on the cabinet, just below the knife block. He made his way first to the fruit bowl, grabbing an orange as requested and rummaging through the fridge.

With all the ingredients found, he did his best to cut them as nice as possible, pausing only at the muffled sound of a scuffle upstairs before the silence resumed and he continued on.

He finished all the slicing he could do before Hannibal had returned so he took the time to go through drawers, finding a lighter and some candles. Will took the time to light them, playing with the light in the dining room to find something more suiting. He sipped his wine, refilled his glass, and almost finished another by the time he heard the upstairs door opening.

Hannibal descended, carrying Bedelia her bridal style down the stairs and sat her down at one head of the table. Her dress was gorgeous, all black with silver accents that caught the light, dipping down almost to her navel. Her leg was bandaged off at the knee cleanly, remnants from his past as a surgeon, and the severed limb in his other hand.

He was surprised he wasn’t even remotely upset that Hannibal had obviously undressed her, not when her dazed and laxed expression couldn’t even manage to focus long enough to take in her surroundings. She did an exaggeratedly slow blink, so slow Will didn’t think she would open them again.

“Did everything go okay?” Will asked conversationally.

“Very. Luckily I found a sewing kit and bandages in the bathroom to close the wound. She should be more alert closer to the time that dinner is ready.”

Will followed him excitedly back to the kitchen to watch him prepare the leg. He cut through bone, cleaning it carefully and spicing it in a way that made his stomach rumble by the time it went in the oven, wrapped in leaves and twine.

“We should have had lunch,” Hannibal smirked at the sound to which Will blushed.

“Your food always smells so good,” he justified. “But yes we could have used lunch or something small.”

Thankfully dinner would only take an hour. The time was spent chatting with Bedelia who could only stare blankly back as if they were not even there. Occasionally she would grunt or moan but in the end, couldn’t form a coherent sentence yet.

Finally, a timer went off in the kitchen, Hannibal announcing that dinner was ready and asking WIll to come help with serving which he did happily.

Hannibal carried the roasted leg while Will carried the decorative looking salad platter.

When they entered the dining room once again, setting the food down, Bedelia managed to look somewhat more alert.

Will poured the last of the wine bottle into his glass, refilling Hannibal’s and filling Bedelia’s in front of her with the new bottle while Hannibal began cutting her leg to serve.

Walking around her and to his seat in the middle of the table, a flash of movement made Will pause. The short moment was just long enough for Bedelia to strike. Her arm swung out from beneath the table, and a searing pain erupted in his thigh in an instant.

“Ah,” Will yelped, the bottle of wine he was carrying falling to the floor when his hands immediately went to hold on to the injury. The dark red liquid stained the floor, splashing up onto his pants to meld with the blood now leaking down his pant leg.

The pitchfork like silverware protruded from his leg, prongs cutting into the suit and his flesh. It looked like a flesh wound at best, but he couldn’t be sure how deep the prongs were embedded.

Bedelia wasted no time throwing herself into the floor, crawling away with a frantic cry, her stump hitting the floor with hard thumps. 

Will looked to Hannibal, hoping for either help with his leg or help to catch her.

The man sat calmly with a delighted grin, sipping from his wine glass and enjoying the show.

Will growled, glancing at Bedelia who was already halfway up the stairs and assessed the situation. He reached down, ripping the fork from his thigh, gritting his teeth.

Grabbing his unused napkin, he unfolded the mess of fabric and wrapped it around his thigh to stop the bleeding in a makeshift tourniquet. The white immediately turned red but Will had no time to think about that because when he looked up, Bedelia was gone.

“Shit,” he swore, grabbing the steak knife and running after her despite the pain in his leg. 

With a limp in his gait, he bounded up the stairs, the quiet slide of a chair and patter of shoes on wood just behind him as Hannibal followed silently.

His heart was beating wildly, mind racing so fast he couldn’t make sense of a single thought outside of  _ where the fuck did she go _ .

The upstairs was a maze of doors that she could have gone through, dark oak doors shut inconspicuously. 

He stilled at the top of the stairs, breathing heavily and watching the doors close. 

The smallest of movements came from underneath the crack at the bottom of the door and he was off, ripping the door open.

Bedelia screamed, fumbling at her bedside table.

A gun.

“Will,” she continued to scramble, clawing at the table until it threatened to topple over on top of her, tears thick and clotting in her voice. “Will please-”

Her pleas fell on deaf ears. He grabbed her by her hair, pulling her up to stand wobbly on one leg, blonde locks twisting around his fingers. Without a second thought, he plunged the steak knife into her stomach. He dragged the blade through muscle and sinew, tearing her apart in a crude mockery of what was done to him so long ago.

“No,” she sobbed through the pain.

Will dropped her cruelly to the ground, watching her gasp and flop, trying to hold her intestines back inside of her. Watery pale eyes locked with Will as the light slowly drained from them.   
“Perhaps you were destined to be a messy killer.”   
Will snorted, turning to look at Hannibal. He could feel blood drying down his front, most of it ending up all over the sheets of her bed. 

Hannibal looked fondly at the scene in front of him in the way only an insane person could.    
“Why didn’t you help me?”

Hannibal gave a nonchalant shrug. “I wanted to see what would happen.”

Will rolled his eyes, exasperated. The pain in his thigh was catching up to him with a burning fury.

Hannibal stepped over the now corpse without care, sitting down gingerly on the bed while trying to avoid the blood. He pulled Will by his hip into the space between his legs. 

He didn’t help him untie the dinner napkin around his leg or unbutton his pants. Instead, Will stood silently, holding on lightly to Hannibal’s shoulders as he inspected the wound.

“She didn’t hit anything devastatingly important,” Hannibal assured him after a moment.

“Good,” Will’s lips twisted into a smile before he had his hands around Hannibal’s shoulders, pulling him up and throwing him over the bed onto his stomach, holding him down into the bed with force.

Face pressed down into his ex-lover’s blood, Hannibal felt the first twinge of fear since he was a child, twisted in with excitement and delight at the fierce, ruthless person Will had become.

It was everything he ever wanted for him to be.

He arched his back, reveling in the power in the hand on his nape, holding him down, ass grazing Will’s thighs.

The wound only excited Will more, a broken noise escaping him as he bent down, grinding against Hannibal’s ass, not willing to let him move even an inch. Will nipped at his ear, whispering in a low near growl, “You’re mine, Hannibal.”   
Hannibal could only nod as Will pulled violently at his shirt until the buttons popped off and he could be freed of it. It was rude, uncalled for to ruin his shirt like that, and entirely too arousing.

Next went his pants down around his ankles. Will got to his knees behind him, helping him remove his socks and shoes and step through the pant legs.

The gentle caress of his hands over the back of Hannibal’s legs was a stark contrast to the rough manhandling, much like his unpredictable personality that he loved so much.

He massaged the back of his legs up to his thighs, the ghost of his breath against sensitive skin sending goosebumps up Hannibal’s neck. He spread his legs invitingly only to receive a pinch to his inner thigh that made him jerk to escape.

“Don’t move,” the command was short and sharp as a knife. Hannibal swallowed but didn’t respond, standing stock still to let him continue, meticulous thumbs digging into his flesh. Slowly he felt himself begin to relax, arousal stirring as hands kneaded over his ass until his body was soft and pliant.

Will began pressing kisses where his hands weren’t: the back of his knee, the inside of his thigh, to the curve of his spine, always cleverly avoiding the one place Hannibal was aching for.

He was a notoriously patient man, but eventually, even his limits were reached when a quiet needy noise slipped from his lips.

He could feel the way Will grinned lecherously at the sound, teeth pressed against his leg. He didn’t shy away from the sharp nip just below his cheek before he was finally given what he wanted. A broad swipe of his tongue against his balls pressed tightly between his legs made Hannibal sigh, savoring the wonders of Will’s mouth. He licked and sucked every inch of his cock and balls that he could reach from behind.

It was teasing, not even remotely enough. He felt ready to explode, to let out another needy whine when there was a quiet shuffle behind him and the brief disappearance of Will before he returned with something he had retrieved from his pants. Hannibal didn’t dare pull himself away from the bloody bed to look and see what it was he had despite the curiosity clawing at his mind.

The pop of a cap answered his question.

Belatedly he realized Will must have been planning a sexual escapade to take place here, whether it happened in Bedelia’s bed or at the very dinner table. The possessiveness of it set his very bones on fire, his cunning boy unpredictable as ever.

Palm over the brand on the back of his neck, Will held him down, sliding two fingers inside of him without warning.

With Will’s breath in his ear, body pressed tight against him he relaxed quickly, letting Will inside him just as he had time and time again. 

His mind was hazy, lost in the sensation of being so thoroughly dominated and fucked, the only thought was how much he needed release.

The head of his cock rubbed up against his hole that wasn’t nearly as prepared as they usually did, not pushing in but fucking between his cheeks.

“Will,” Hannibal chided breathlessly, wet open and waiting. “There’s no need to tease.”

He tried to push back on him but Will stopped him in an instant.

“Hannibal,” Will scolded sharply, voice deep with arousal. “I’m the one in charge right now. I’m going to do what I want and you’re gonna take it, understand?”

Hannibal only whimpered, practically begging. He was so hard he ached, desperately needing something, anything.

“Say it, darlin,” Will snarled, slamming into him and buried so deep it stole his breath away.

Will wasn’t sure where the nickname came from or how the southern drawl managed to slip out after years and years of pushing it down but it made Hannibal keen, grinding back against him the best he could.

He pushed in without further preparation when he didn’t answer, Hannibal unable to stop the way he tensed at the intrusion that blended the pleasure he had been feeling into something bordering pain. They hadn’t dared to push close to his border in the bedroom outside of the scarring bites they left on each other, but neither could deny the rush the pain gave them.

He fucked into him rough and mean, demanding Hannibal say it once again but each time he opened his mouth short guttural moans fell out as Will pounding into him, nailing his prostate on every thrust. The pain dissipated into tight, blinding pleasure, overwhelming, and perfect.   
“I’m yours, I’m yours, Will, please,” Hannibal whined, panting.    
“I’m the only one allowed to fuck you now and I’ll fuck you how I want,” Will slowed down again.   
Hannibal tried to rut down on the bed, the blood-soaked sheets only allowing the smallest modicum of relief before Will pulled him away from it, a strong hand holding his abdomen up and away.

“I’ve only ever been yours, you-you know that I was meant for you, made for you, Will she wasn’t… I fucked her thinking of you. I fucked Alana thinking of you, always you, mylimasis,” he babbled. 

He could practically feel the pleased smirk Will bore against his skin. 

Hannibal felt his cheeks warm in embarrassment- something that hadn’t happened in so long it had taken him a moment to place the emotion at the way he was falling apart for him. Taken apart, to be more exact. 

There was no time to dwell on the feeling though because he turned his cheek to the bed, glancing the best he could at Will over his shoulder as he began to pound into him in earnest. Quiet breathless moans were punched out of him at the force, held down, and unable to do more than take whatever he was willing to give.

Finally, Will reached underneath him, taking his neglected cock in hand and stroking it in time, hand still slick with leftover lube.

It was uncontrollable, the way he bucked into the touch, fucking into the hand and then back onto Will’s cock in an endless cycle.

Will came with a stuttering thrust, hand stilling as the aftershocks rocked his body before he picked up again with a renewed vigor, jerking Hannibal off with a harsh possessiveness that had him coming in an instant. The cum coated his hand slicked the way all the more, a quiet breathless moan slipping from his throat.

He was soft in his hand but Will wasn’t letting go even when every move became painful and overstimulating, thighs twitching and jerking.

“That’s enough, that’s enough, Will,” Hannibal snapped helplessly. “Will!”

Will didn’t drop him, slick hand rubbing over his cock with a frightening pace just to see his body convulse, hips twitching and bucking uncontrollably. “I love seeing you like this though,” he purred in his ear. “All taken apart for me, destroyed. I’ve never seen you like this before, that’s not very fair.”   
Hannibal had destroyed him so many times, over and over. It was his turn just for a little bit.

Arms falling limp, Hannibal resulted in just jerking on the bed, twitching head to toe, a hand fisted in bloody red sheets to hold on to this reality.

Will massaged the head of his limp, overstimulated cock, rubbing his palm over the top in a way that made him sob brokenly.

Only when he stopped moving completely did Will release him, watching in satisfaction at the way he bucked one final time, eyes shut in complete exhaustion.

He crawled over his limp body, pressing a kiss to his lover’s sharp cheekbone before relaxing back against the pillows, arm curled possessively around him.

It smelt more like Bedelia here, her overly floral perfume and sweet-smelling shampoo meddled with the iron tang of her blood.

“I love you,” Will whispered, stroking over Hannibal’s stomach gently, tracing through the soft hairs of his stomach and the hard lines that came from hunting, the soft budge from good food like a map of his life.

“You are a cruel, cruel boy,” Hannibal huffed with a laugh.

Just as calm settled in the air around them, sleep soon to follow, there was a knock at the front door.

Then another.

And another.

When neither he nor Hannibal moved from the bed, an identification was called so loudly throughout the house it could be heard even in the upstairs bedroom that made everything inside Will turn cold as ice.

“Police!”


	8. I love the shitty things we do together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack is on their trail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I rewrote this entire chapter twice lmao, please let me know what you think of it! I was so excited to write the next chapter its already halfway finished!

“Police!”

Will froze in place, breath stuck behind the lump that had formed in his throat. He turned panic-stricken eyes to Hannibal who was watching the door intently, looking to him for what to do next. Will could practically see the cogs in his brain working through what was going to happen.

There was another harsh rap against the door and Will let out a breathless plea. “Hannibal.”

His mind was racing, each scenario more and more depressing. They were going to be caught in the act. Bedelia’s cold dead eyes stared blankly under the bed, the body growing colder by the second and her cooked leg still on the table, they were covered in blood, they were probably on the FBI’s most wanted list still. Will couldn’t see a way out of this. It felt like Jack Crawford was breathing down his neck just outside the door. Objectively he knew he wasn’t here with the police officer, but it felt like if they answered that door he would stroll in and arrest them both in a blink of an eye.

They should have just gone to Florence, they could be there by now or almost there. They could have had dogs and a house and a life together instead of coming here to exact dramatic revenge or whatever it was that they were doing here.

Now they were going to be taken back to the BSHCI, there would be another trial, they couldn’t carry out their plans, they would be separated.

Will would rather die.

He was sure that he would if it came to that. Whether Hannibal wanted to live or not was beside the point, neither would survive being caught if Will could help it.

His entire world felt it was crumbling apart.

“Will,” Hannibal places a gentle hand on his shoulder, pulling him from the thoughts that had put him in a stupor. “Take a breath for me please.”

Will did what was asked of him, heart-throbbing hard against his ribs. 

“I’m going to handle this, I need you to trust me,” Hannibal assured him, slipping from the bed to hastily shove his pants back on.

Bloodstained his pale skin. Dark maroon brown flakes and smears were all over the side of his face, his hands and chest, every place on his body that touched the bed. The missing buttons on his shirt didn’t allow the fabric to even attempt to conceal his chest smothered in red. Will’s throat felt tight. Any other time he would describe him as the most beautiful work of art painted in blood the way he was. Now it was just damning.

Will hurried to do the same, shoving his ruined clothes back on and giving a grimace at the way the wet fabric clung to his skin from seeping in the pool of blood from Bedelia’s corpse. 

It wasn’t ideal, but Hannibal was the more presentable one out of the two. He also had a better handle on social situations than Will ever had. These past few months had been a blessing to rely on him to speak to others for him.

“You look absolutely wild, my dear,” Hannibal gave him a smirk. He reached up, petting Will’s hair back into place and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

_ I’ll take care of you.  _ Went unsaid in the action.

Will felt some of the tension that had been gathering in his chest release at the calming action, placing every last shred of trust into Hannibal’s words.

Watching him exit the room felt like he was leaving their safety cocoon. As if Bedelia’s bedroom had become the only safe place left in the world for them where the outside world quit existing and the threats were all contained to the rest of the home.    
Will felt silly even thinking that. 

He could vaguely hear the sounds of the front door opening and voices speaking, though their words were not discernable. He could only handle sitting on the bed a moment longer before curiosity got the better of him.

Will stood, walking closer to the door to catch a glimpse as to what was happening downstairs. On the way, out the corner of his eye, a mirror hung on the wall. He could have sworn he saw black antlers in it and soulless eyes staring at him in place of his reflection, the face of a wendigo instead of his.    
He understood now what that meant. He had understood for a while.

Peeping his head out from the doorway, he saw the same wendigo where Hannibal stood, speaking calmly to the officer who wasn’t buying his story for a second, no matter how calm and charming Hannibal could be.

“Bedelia had an accident during dinner, there is no doubt that is the commotion the neighbors are referring to hearing.”   
The officer narrowed his eyes, examining his surroundings from the entryway. He was a young man, Will noted. So young that this could have been his first disturbance call. He still had a bright, bushy-tailed look to him and excitement in his heart at doing his job to protect Baltimore from people like them.

Too bad he came without a partner, probably expecting nothing extraordinary to come from a disturbance call and a wellness check. A rookie mistake.

“And you are?”

Hannibal smiled, showing he had nothing to hide. “A colleague of Bedelia’s. I’ve been out of town for a while and decided to drop in for dinner.”   
The officer didn’t believe the half-truth. Will had to give it to him, he was a cunning man. There was something sharp in him to be able to see through Hannibal so easily.

“That’s a lot of blood for an accident. Did you take her to the hospital?”

He took a few steps inside, continuing to ask questions too quietly for Will to hear. It was killing him to only hear bits and pieces of what was being said.

“No,” Hannibal answered whatever was asked of him. “We were the only two here tonight.”   
Will cringed. That would be an obvious lie if the officer went into the dining room, which of course is where he was walking towards.

Without another thought, Will crept down the stairs, bare feet quiet as a mouse against the wood floor, his heart hammering despite his cool exterior.

Hannibal had disappeared from view, undoubtedly following the officer to keep control of the situation.

Will followed their voices into the kitchen and then into the dining room.   
Thankfully, the officer’s back was to Will, though Hannibal was able to catch his eye with a minute shake of his head to not do whatever it was he was planning.

“Alright, let me check on Dr. Du Maurier and I will be on my-”

It was a creak in the flooring that gave him away.

Will froze as the officer turned towards him, a surprised look in his wide eyes. He looked Will up and down, taking in his blood-stained clothes when a recognition seemed to hit him as he studied his face.    
“Aren’t you-” the officer began, hand reaching for the weapons strapped to his hip.

Hannibal didn’t give the man a chance to finish his sentence or draw his gun. He stepped up to the man while his attention was on Will, wrapping a strong arm around his chest and grabbing his chin.   
The officer wound his hands around Hannibal’s arms, trying desperately to struggle out of his hold to no avail. With a sickening, wet snap of bone, Hannibal twisted his head to the side, breaking his neck instantly.

The officer fell limp against his killer who only held him a moment longer before dropping him with disregard into the floor and turning his heated gaze to Will.

“Will.”

Will cringed at the disapproving tone.   
Hannibal stepped over the body on the floor. “He was just about to leave.”   
“I was coming to help you.” Will justified, though it sounded weak even to him.   
Hannibal frowned. “That may be, but you didn’t trust me to handle the situation.”   
Confusion scrunched his face. He trusted Hannibal with more than just his life. “I trust you.”

“If you trusted me to take care of this, why didn’t you stay upstairs?”

Will stayed silent, unsure in the whirlwind of emotion inside him.

Why didn’t he stay upstairs? What was he going to do when he got down here? If there was a sure role in their relationship, it was that Hannibal was the people person, Will was much too happy to let him deal with others, so why was he so worried that the officer wouldn’t believe Hannibal and leave?

Hannibal’s eyes sparkled as if he knew exactly what Will was feeling and what the answer was to his unasked questions.

“You wanted to be the one to kill him, did you not?” Hannibal accused softly, not meant to hurt but prod at his reasoning.

“And why would I want that?” Will couldn’t help the way his shoulders tensed defensively.

“So far, you have committed all of the murders, save for the few I hunted while we were fighting,” his tone was airy, Will could tell Hannibal wasn’t truly upset with him, making him feel all the more guilty. “Is it because you did not want to see me kill someone?”   
“No,” Will whispered, keeping his eyes on the floor.   
“Because you did not want me to kill a police officer? So similar to your friend Ms. Katz?”

“No.”

He may have opposed the young officer’s death once upon a time, but that was not what was bothering him now.   
Hannibal came into view, long legs clad in a now dirty suit. Will kept his eyes on the floor, focusing on his legs instead of looking him in the face.

“Why?”

His voice was much softer now, drawing the answer out of him like a knife to his gut.   
“I don’t want you to kill without me.”

The words were bitten out, a forced admission.

Will elaborated when Hannibal didn’t speak. “I knew you were going to kill that man, he knew something was wrong the minute he stepped inside.”   
He could practically feel the pleased smile radiating from him.

“And I wanted to see you kill him if I couldn’t kill him with you.”

It was like a burden was lifted off of his shoulders.

A gentle hand on his shoulder guided him to look up at Hannibal’s delighted face, brown eyes alight with surprise. “My darling boy. I knew you wanted to kill him, I did not think that you would want to kill him with me.”   
Will wet his lips. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Your unpredictableness is something I greatly adore. It was simply an option that I had not considered.”   
Will couldn’t help the smirk that quirked his lips. “Consider it from now on then.”

Still, something was bothering him. Will studied Hannibal for a minute. “Is that the only reason you wanted me to stay upstairs? You didn’t think I would want to kill him?”   
“No,” he answered, open and honest. “I was also unsure how you would respond to an officer’s death.”

“You didn’t trust that I  _ would  _ kill him,” Will guessed. “Much less want to.”

His silence was as much of an answer as any.

Will glared. It always came down to trust between them.

“Your anger, even when directed at me, is a gorgeous sight,” Hannibal smiled. “I regret still reserving distrust about you, darling.”   
“Do you really?” Will scoffed. “Or am I going to wake up drugged again because you don’t trust me to carry out the rest of our plans?”   
It was a petty jab that Hannibal deflected easily. “Of course not. I have no more foolish reservations left. Do you?”   
“None.”   
Hannibal stole a teasing kiss, leaving Will breathless when he pulled away. “Now, if you can put aside your anger for a moment, the unfortunate turn of events has put us on a time frame. We don’t have long before more police arrive when this man doesn’t answer.”   
Will hummed, examining the mess they had made of the home. “We should get to work then.”

  
  
  


Jack Crawford would forever be haunted by what happened to Will Graham.

It could be argued by some-most- people that his mental decline could be pinned on how Jack treated him, or at least it had when Will had been imprisoned for the copycat killer’s crimes. At the time, he thought he was going to be swallowed whole by the guilt he refused to let show, pouring all his time and energy into his sick and dying wife and other crimes than focusing on the outrageous claims that Hannibal Lecter, their friend, and psychiatrist, was not only the copycat killer but also the Chesapeake Ripper.

He wouldn’t have been the one to bet on Graham being right.

Eventually, his wife was dead, Lecter was behind bars, and Graham was set free. Jack refrained from contacting him for three,  _ three  _ goddamn years. He let the man get married, let him live the life he wanted out in the middle of nowhere with his dogs and his wife and kid. Jack tried desperately to leave well enough alone, Graham had been through enough, they all had. It was time for them all to move on and if that meant losing his best profiler then so be it. Everyone else had seemed to catch a break in this mess: Alana and Margot and their son Morgan, Dr. Chilton and his book, Freddie Lounds and her work, everyone seemed to be flourishing with Lecter gone, Will deserved the chance to as well.

Jack Crawford would also forever regret contacting Will Graham again.

He dragged him kicking and screaming back into the life that had nearly destroyed him to hunt the Tooth Fairy. And of course, their reunion couldn’t be without Hannibal Lecter.

He should have known that the two were too enamored with each other no matter what evil and vicious things they did to one another to work together. He should have known that Lecter wouldn’t have something up his sleeve.

There were a lot of things he should have known but he didn’t.

As soon as they found the location of one of Hannibal’s unknown assets and had reached the house on the bluffs, it was already morning. Just as the sun began peeking over the horizon, the FBI arrived, armed and ready for whatever was waiting for them there with Jack heading the army and Kade Purnell breathing down his neck at the disaster of a plan they had schemed up.

The blood bath was expected, of course, the lack of bodies however was not.

The plan had been that the Dolarhyde and Lecter would kill each other and both monsters would be taken out for good and Will was supposed to live. 

But even the best-laid plans often go awry or whatever the quote was. Jack had been the first one out of the car, gun in hand as he stalked through the home. There were evident signs of a struggle, chairs knocked down, glass from a wine bottle was broken and coated in the sickening sheen of blood, one wine glass was found as well, still half full while the other laid broken with the bottle. Jack could practically see Hannibal and Will drinking it together and doing the same dance around each other that they always did before one of them was injured enough to drop the glass. A camera was set up in the middle of the mess of red, the film was something his team would have to get developed so they could get the full story as soon as possible.

The patio door was busted through, and as Jack stepped out over the crunch of the shards beneath his shoes, the first and only body was found.

Francis Dolarhyde looked as if he had been maimed by an animal. His blood spread out behind him in a way that almost resembled wings, a fitting end for the Red Dragon. Dried blood covered his mouth and chin and deep cuts and stabs marred his legs, throat torn open by a set of teeth he was sure would fit one Hannibal Lecter. 

Jack lowered his gun. While the rest of the agents were checking the rest of the house, he knew they wouldn’t find anyone. Lecter and Graham were gone.

Will’s words from so long ago seemed to drown out the sounds of the world around him for a moment. “Because he was my friend. And because I wanted to run away with him.”

That fateful day seemed so far away now, just a distant memory in his entangling with Dr. Lecter. Now it was seared into his mind.

Will had finally done it, there was no doubt about it. He wanted to believe that Lecter had kidnapped him or maybe killed him, but he knew the truth of the matter.

Once the house was cleared his team got to work collecting evidence, taking samples, and pictures of the crime scene around them. He stayed to supervise if only to escape the glare of Purnell that followed him when he walked through Quantico.

“The camera ran out of batteries,” Price spoke up, holding the camera up. “I’d guess that it filmed everything though.”   
Jack let out the breath he had been holding. “Get that developed as soon as you can, I want to see every last frame on that thing.”   
Jimmy nodded, bagging it as evidence and continuing on.

The autopsy revealed exactly what Jack had suspected, Dolarhyde had died of blood loss through the bite in his neck that had severed an artery and the deep laceration to his abdomen.

The blood that was collected from the scene was not all his though. Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter must have lost a considerable amount from what was found, leaving Jack and his team to wait impatiently for the film, hoping to find out what happened.

Zeller was the one to get it developed, calling Jack down to the lab for a “watch party” though Jack doubted the happy snarky attitude would last once the footage was revealed.

He was right.

The scene opened to Hannibal, covering what looked like a wound to his abdomen, a gunshot wound more than likely. Will wasn’t there, somewhere in the background judging by how Hannibal kept looking up to someone off-camera as he spoke his usual nonsense.

Jack covered his mouth in muted horror, not wanting to look away from the film for a second but unable to watch at the same time. Will was stabbed through the cheek and thrown out the door, rolling down onto the patio. There was a scuffle in the darkness, the film now grainy in its strain to pick up what was happening outside in the night. More groans of pain, and then Hannibal was on Dolarhyde’s back only to be thrown against a rock. When Will stood again, the light of the house gleamed off the blood he was drenched in. It explained why so much of the blood matched the profiler and the cannibal: they had been shot and stabbed and thrown.

Jack was feeling less and less sure that they were still alive.

The camera didn’t adjust to keep the fight in the frame, but it made it easier to reconstruct the events of that night. The repeated stabs and use of the ax were the cause of all the cuts and slashes to Dolarhyde’s body, the movements barely visible on the film anymore, most of which must have happened off-screen when Lecter was thrown against the rocks.    
Then, of course, the final moments with both Hannibal and Will on Dolarhyde, their actions indecipherable in the darkness, though it must have been when the bite and the final slash came. The dragon fell, bleeding out as Hannibal and Will limped to each other, helping one another up into an embrace.

Jack narrowed his eyes, trying to see what was happening. The figures in the film were so far away and grainy, they almost looked like one being. The kiss or embrace or whatever it was never ended as Will tipped them over the bluff.

Jimmy let out a tiny gasp in shock, Brian shrinking back from the film that continued to play though there were no actors left to film.

Finally, Jack stood, stopping it with a grimace.

“That was…” Price started only to be interrupted by Zeller.

“I called it! They were in love. I told you they weren’t just friends, they definitely kissed when they…” Zeller trailed off, looking at the screen. “Fell.” he finished lamely.

Jimmy was the one who looked to Jack, ignoring his friend’s comment completely. “Jack, with those injuries and the amount of blood we found-”   
“You don’t think they survived,” Jack finished with a sigh. “We’ll sweep the ocean below, try to find the bodies. Someone will need to inform Molly Graham.”

  
The search turned up nothing. Purnell called it off after a week, declaring both Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham missing, presumed dead.   
Jack wasn’t so sure though. No bodies. It was suspicious, a nagging thought in the back of his head telling him there was no way in hell that they were dead, injured or not.

Still, he did his best to offer his condolences at Will’s funeral. Alana attended, her wife and son nowhere to be found. They didn’t speak to one another, though both were shunned by the grieving widow and her child that clung tightly to her.

Life after that had to return to a semblance of normalcy. 

Alana moved away with her family, presumably hiding. Jack didn’t blame her. He was forced to continue his search for Will and Hannibal in his free time if he wanted to keep his job, focusing on new cases, trying to work with a new profiler who wasn’t near as good as Will.

He had almost begun to believe that the pair truly was dead when Freddie Lounds’s article was published to  _ Tattle Crime _ , stating that there were sightings of the famed murder husbands in Cuba.

Jack could almost laugh. Cuba. And a string of familiar murder patterns to confirm it.

He had tried to get Purnell to let him hunt down the world’s most famous psychopath and his new accomplice, to no avail. Soon after, they received the call from the Baltimore police.

Bedelia.

It was all the confirmation Jack needed.

The front door was shut politely as they entered, the table still set for three, no signs of a struggle. There was no doubt about what was sitting on the table, ready to be served. It looked like they still ate her before staging the scene.

“Jack!” Price called from upstairs.

Jack took one last glance at the table before he followed the call upstairs. In the bedroom, Bedelia laid in the bed, nude, and very much dead. The blood around the wound on her stomach seemed to have been wiped up with something, leaving it clean as she lay on her side, the sight where her leg had been taken still bandaged up tightly. Her head rested on her arm, curled hair draped down one side, and her other hand covering herself modestly. It was obvious that someone took a lot of care with her when she was put in the bed, unlike the officer who was left where he laid in the dining room.

“It's Sleeping Venus,” Jimmy explained, camera in hand. “Or Venus of Urbino, I’m not sure which they’re trying to mimic right now. They were commenting on her beauty, I think. I don’t know for sure though.”

Zeller frowned. “How do you know that?”

Jack tuned out their bickering, focusing instead on Bedelia. 

Uncaring if he was interrupting, Jack asked, “Was it them?”   
They stopped and Zeller nodded. “I don’t know who else would have it out for Dr. Du Maurier except for Lecter and Graham.”

They were back.

The investigation confirmed it, hairs and DNA found on the knife and the fork, either they were getting sloppy or they wanted it to be known that they were here. He was willing to bet on the latter. Semen was also found in the bedding beneath Bedelia in her blood, giving Jack a queasy feeling in his stomach when it was matched to the two killers.

Later that night, he returned to his empty home, phone in one hand and a glass of whiskey in the other as he sat at his desk. He tried to call Alana first and warn her, though every call he made, an automated voice responded that the number was no longer in use. Dr. Chilton also declined all his calls.

By the time his whiskey was nearly gone, he had given up. With the resolution to capture Lecter and Graham before anyone else was killed, he swallowed the last drink. Just as he began to stand, there was a prickle at the back of his neck, the faintest sense of being watched. 

He turned quickly, a shock of fear to his system when he was met with wild blue eyes and dull pain to the back of his head before it all went black.


	9. Romantic and True

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will and Hannibal resolve their unfinished business in the states by having a Last Supper with old friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe it's finished finally! Thank you for reading all the way through!! If you see any errors in this please let me know, I had a hard time copying it into ao3.

The last thing Freddie remembered was being outside in the woods, trying to sneak a look at a new crime scene, camera in hand when a snap of a twig behind her scared the shit out of her. She spun around, thinking she had been caught by a police officer guarding the scene, an excuse already on the tip of her tongue. Instead, she was greeted by the devil himself.

“Ms. Lounds,” Dr. Lecter smiled at her, adorning his signature suit and tie.   
She didn’t even have time to scream, a whole team of police who could save her just feet away.

Her head was pounding like someone had hit it with a sledgehammer. Truthfully she didn’t know how she ended up here, losing time from when she saw Hannibal Lecter to waking up in a basement but there was a terror in her heart at the sight of crown molding of all things.

She was alone, in a basement, with crown molding lining the door that was no doubt locked.

She could only think of one house whose owner was fancy enough to install a basement with crown molding.

“Oh god,” She sighed, trying to sit up. She staggered, supporting herself on her arms against the dirty, dusty floor.

“Don’t bother trying to get up.”   
Freddie flinched, looking towards the voice that came from the darkness.

She let out a scream, loud and unabashed at the profile she saw staring back at her from the abyss. It couldn’t even be human, all teeth, and scarred flesh like a monster from one of her nightmares.

“Freddie!” The  _ thing  _ shouted. “Stop! It’s- goddammit shut up!”   
Her mouth closed with a snap at the commend, eyes bugging out of her head with fear.   
“Chilton! Frederick Chilton! We’ve met before,” the man- Fredrick- spoke.

“Oh.” Freddie sighed, a hysterical snort escaping her. “I thought you were a… I don’t even know. Zombie.”   
Frederick was not nearly as amused, snapping sarcastically, “right. That’s good, I haven’t heard that one before.”   
The gravity of the situation sunk back into her, her bones feeling heavy, thoughts slow.

“What happened?” she asked timidly, relying on her ability to collect information quickly.   
Frederick shrugged, his suit just as rumpled and dirty as hers. “I have no idea. I was walking out to my car when I saw that maniac-”   
“Hannibal?”   
“Will Graham!” Frederick shouted. “That man! I counted it as a blessing from the universe that he took a swan dive off a cliff. Like the universe was making up for all that shit that happened to me. I can’t catch a break.”   
Freddie nodded sympathetically, recalling what had all happened to the doctor. Shot, butchered, set on fire, torn apart. It was amazing that he was still alive. She didn’t quite rule out the zombie theory all the way yet.

“You were walking out to your car?” She prompted.

“Oh. Yes, I was walking out to my car and that maniac was waiting for me, choked me until I passed out and I woke up here when they brought you in. They chained us both down here.”

Freddie took in his account of what happened, checking her wrists and ankles. Sure enough, her ankle was chained to something further in the distance that was too dark to see. Based on how badly her head hurt, she had probably been taken in a similar fashion or had been hit with something, she couldn’t be sure.

“How long ago was that?”

“I don’t know,” he looked ruefully at the door. “I can’t tell the time down here. A while.”

“Helpful,” she sighed, looking around. There wasn’t much else in the room aside from them and the chains that she could see, the entire room illuminated by a single light near the door that didn’t offer nearly enough brightness. From what she could tell though, there was a table or something in the far corner of the room and a tray next to it. There was a surgical neatness to it that made her bones even feel cold.   
Abel Gideon came to mind, sending a chill up her spine.  _ Surely _ , she thought desperately.  _ Surely not. Right? _

“Oh,” Frederick snapped, bringing her attention back to him. “I’m sorry that I am not helpful in this situation. God forbid I have time to freak out like you are right now, blabbering on about the fucking crown-”

“Shh!” Freddie yelped at a soft, almost indistinguishable sound.   
Frederick kept on, ignoring her plea for silence until the door clicked like a pin on a hand grenade dropping to the floor.

The lock slid open, and the doorknob was pulled open, revealing Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter just behind him.

“Oh shit,” Frederick whimpered pathetically.

  
  
  


Mornings were always Alana’s favorite time of day. She was always up before Margot and Morgan, spending the morning in bed reading quietly until either of them woke up to join her.

There was something wrong this morning though. 

A gut feeling drug her out of bed, wrapped up in a robe while Margot continued to snore away, drooling softly into her pillow. Alana gave her a tight-lipped smile, running her fingers through her hair just once before she made her way down the hall to Morgan’s room.    
The door was normally kept cracked open so they could hear if he was up and doing something, he was getting old enough he would sometimes get into things instead of going to bed at bedtime, but this morning, it was shut.

Alana frowned. She didn’t shut it last night, but she wrote the anomaly off as Margot’s doing.

She opened the door quietly, her eyes going immediately to the small bed Morgan had started sleeping in recently.

There was no sleeping figure though in the bed. Alana looked around quickly, heart pounding when she found Morgan was not in the room at all.

“Morgan?” she called quietly, opening the closet door.

No answer.

Alana tied her robe so she had the full use of her hands, hurrying out of the room and praying to every god she had ever heard of that the little boy made it down the stairs alright and wasn’t lying in the floor with a broken neck or something.

A sigh of relief escaped her when she found no little body laying anywhere at the bottom of the stairs, adding a baby gate for the stairs to the mental list of things they needed to toddler-proof the new house.

She made her way through the kitchen and into the playroom adjacent to it. “Morgan?”

“Mama!” his little voice called.

She sighed in relief, walking into the room hurriedly. “Baby you can’t do that to mama you scared me.”   
Every ounce of fear came back to her in an instant at what met her in the room. She hadn’t seen him at first, obscured by the wall of the playroom. His back was to her, the familiar mop of curls on top of his head giving away his identity.

Hair standing on end and ice flooding her veins, Alana forced her voice to remain calm, damning herself for leaving her phone upstairs. “Will?”

“Alana,” he greeted her, never looking over his shoulder. “Morgan was just showing me all his toy cars.”

Alana swallowed, wondering how in the hell he had gotten past security. “What are you doing here?”   
“We thought we would drop in for a visit.”

_ We. _

Alana didn’t think, every instinct inside her pushing her to scoop up her son immediately. His protests were drowned out by her own yells for Margot, security, anyone. 

She made it out of the playroom and to the stairs when Hannibal came into view, Margot in his arms, slumped over unconscious.

The terror she felt couldn’t even be put into words at seeing that monster holding her wife.

“Hannibal,” Alana whined, pulling her son against her chest, heart in her throat.

“Alana,” he smiled pleasantly.

She took only seconds to calculate her options before she tried to run for the front door, cradling Morgan as close to her as possible.

She almost made it when strong arms wrapped around her, unable to move unless she dropped her child which wasn’t an option.

A sharp stab of a needle to her neck made her gasp, flailing all the more to get away as things began to blur.

She took a shuttering gasp, clinging on to Morgan with her weakening grip as he was pulled from her arms and the world went dark.

  
  
  


Will hummed, happily sipping his wine. “You don’t think this was a bad idea?”

Hannibal tilted his head, Alana’s liver searing in the skillet in front of him. “Planning a dinner party while simultaneously announcing to the world we’re alive? One would argue that is a terrible idea.”   
“But you went through with it.”   
Hannibal’s eyes flashed. “Of course I did, mylimasis. If it’s your desire, who am I to stand in the way of your blood lust?”

“Romantic,” Will commented shortly.

Hannibal gave a small huff. “Why don’t you go set the table for our guests, I’m almost finished here.”

Will stood from his seat at the island, disappointed he couldn’t continue to watch Hannibal cook.

There were no knives available for this dinner, nor pitchforks, considering the incident with Bedelia. This was going to be a much calmer dinner if he had any say. It had been hard enough to prepare, they were going to enjoy it. Hannibal had to work for several hours at a time to gather the ingredients needed, all the surgeries he had to perform. It had been quite enjoyable though, just him and Hannibal digging around inside people, pulling out whatever organs they wanted.

It had taken a surprising lack of skill to break into Hannibal’s old home in Baltimore, bringing their guests here to take apart and keep until dinner. The house still felt like home.

Everyone seemed much more awake now, Will thought with a smirk as he took the plates and forks out to the table where everyone was seated. IV stands were connected to each of them, another thing that was surprisingly easy to procure.

Jack and Alana were the most aware so far, while Dr. Chilton was still slumped to the side, not even attempting to wake himself up. Freddie was still out of it, as well as Margot, but they were steadily waking up.

“Mm…” Alana tried to speak when her ice blue eyes locked on Will, still hazy and dazed. “Mmm.”

“Morgan is fine,” Will supplied. “We left him with the nanny.”

She stared, hard and unwavering.    
Will felt the urge to shrink under the glare, to stare at the ground and hide behind glasses.

That wasn’t who he was anymore though, no matter how much the people at the table seemed to wish it.   
He straightened his spine, avoiding eye contact as he laid out the plates and forks in front of everyone.

“Will,” Jack began, speech still just the slightest bit slurred. “This isn’t you.”

He didn’t acknowledge him, not even looking in his direction.

“Will!”   
Will twitched, the harsh commanding tone still setting his teeth on edge. He gave Jack an uninspired glare. “Jack, there is really no need to yell.”   
“You even sound like him,” Jack spit with all the force and authority he could muster. “Will, this isn’t you. This is Hannibal, he’s in your head again-”   
“Maybe that’s where he belongs,” Will bit back, agitated.

“Will,” Alana whined in the same begging, pleading tone. 

He hated himself at that moment, the way he felt the need to give her whatever she was asking for from a single plea of his name. The urge wasn’t born from love, though at one point it had been. It was born out of some kind of misplaced loyalty that still itched to help someone he once considered a friend. He ignored her all the same in the end.

At least Freddie was keeping her mouth shut, watching him with wide, frightened eyes. Maybe she was trying to avoid the same fate as Dr. Chilton.

Frederick stayed slumped over, though he was undoubtedly just as awake as the others, a drop of blood seeping from the corner of his mouth where the stump of a tongue was trying to heal despite the commotion.

Jack banged his hand on the table, his other having been amputated at the shoulder, bandaged underneath his clothes that they had replaced after Hannibal cut it off. “Let us go, we can say it was all Hannibal, we can get you out of this.”

Just as he was about to bite out a nasty reply back, Hannibal poked his head out from the kitchen, apron tied over his dress shirt with a smile, the picture of domesticity. “Is everything alright?”

“Of course,” Will smiled softly back, practically throwing the plate down in front of Jack no matter how rude the action was and hurrying back to the kitchen.

“He drives me insane,” Will growled in the confidence of the empty room.

Hannibal kissed his forehead. “You’re doing well.”

His praise always warmed him down to his very core.

Will invaded his space, Hannibal’s back hitting the cabinet as he reached around, wrapping his arms around his waist. Brown eyes met blue, holding each other without blinking, only inches apart. Will untied his apron slow and methodically, pulling it from over his head and setting it on the cabinet. He reached back up, smoothing down the sand-colored strands he had jostled from their place, taking solace in the closeness.

“Best not to leave our guests waiting,” Hannibal said after a minute, though he made no move to push Will away.

Will nodded, backing up and letting Hannibal move again. 

The man turned around, picking up the platters of food. “I have to say, I am quite excited to host a dinner party again.”   
“When we go to Florence, you can host as many as you want,” Will commented, picking up the two platters Hannibal couldn’t carry.

“I look forward to it,” Hannibal hummed, starting towards the dinner table.

Their guests perked up again when they entered, Jack already having something to say that Will ignored completely, focussing instead on not dropping the platters that Hannibal was arranging delicately across the table. Thankfully, Hannibal was not nearly as rude as he was, engaging Jack for him.

“Oh, I forgot the wine,” Hannibal quipped once the platters were all on the table.

“I’ll get it,” Will volunteered, happy for another escape already.

He was starting to question why he wanted to do this at all. With Margot and her big doe eyes and Jack’s demands and Alana’s pitying tone-

He had half a mind to not leave the kitchen. Had he gotten so caught up in Hannibal he forgot what it was like to be around these people again?

He grabbed the two wine bottles that were setting out, opening them both without the grandiose flare that Hannibal usually used. With a steadying breath, he steeled himself and went back into the lion’s den.

It was getting harder to remember he was the lion here with the judgemental eyes of the lambs following him as he poured their wine.

At least Jack had stopped shouting at him.

He poured wine for Jack, giving Alana and Margot a sympathetic look. “Without a liver or kidneys, water would be best for you two.”

Margot only shrugged, uncaring. “I’ll take a glass. Gonna die anyway.”

Will looked to Hannibal who gave a small nod of agreement before he poured Margot her wine.

He poured Hannibal’s glass last except for his own, unable to stop the small smile at the way Hannibal cupped his cheek when he leaned down.

“You’re being very affectionate today,” Will commented, voice low so the others couldn’t hear as easily.

“This is my first chance to show off my beautiful husband, why shouldn’t I be affectionate?” his eyes gleamed, taking Will’s hand and running his finger over the band around his ring finger.

Freddie, who sat next to Hannibal, spoke up very suddenly. “Murder husbands.”   
Will shook his head, going to his seat to the right of Hannibal and poured his wine a little fuller than acceptable, not that anyone, not even Hannibal, would dear comment on the amount.

“I suppose a congratulation is in order,” Jack spoke, a forced, pleasant tone.

“There is,” Hannibal said pleasantly. “Will and I were happily married while we were in Cuba.”   
Margot was the only one who reached for her wine glass, shakily bringing it to her lips. “Why didn’t you just stay there?”   
“Unfinished business,” Will supplied.

The room fell quiet as Hannibal began serving the food, explaining the name of the dish as he put a small amount on everyone’s plate.

“And,” he spoke as he finished proudly. “All the meat has come from the people at this table. The cottage bacon, made from Jack’s shoulder, Alana’s liver, Mrs. Verger’s kidneys, Ms. Lounds’ leg and of course Dr. Chilton’s tongue.”   
Alana paled, staring down at her plate, Jack looking anywhere but at the food.

“Nothing vegetarian, then?” Freddie asked with an incredulous smirk as if she still couldn’t believe this was happening.

“I’m afraid not. Everyone, please, enjoy.”   
Jack was of course the first to ruin the mood, turning his attention back to Will. “Will,” his eyes lingered on the ring glinting in the low light of the room on his left hand. “What about Molly?”

Will narrowed his eyes, the threat evident in his voice. “Did you want me to invite her? This is practically our engagement party, I doubt inviting the ex-wife would be appropriate.”

“She misses you,” Alana supplied. “She mourned you, Wally, too. Are you going to go after her too?”

She asked the question as if she knew the answer would be no. She was relying too much on the version of Will from before.

“If Hannibal wants to make a stop after this, I wouldn’t stop him,” he explained evenly, taking a bite of the liver, never looking away from Alana who only gave him a horrified look.

“Are you going to kill us?” Freddie asked quietly.

“That depends,” Hannibal smiled politely. “Of course, we can’t let you all live. I’m sorry, Jack.”

There was a shift in the air, unsure if they were going to be killed or not and what it depended on.

“You killed Bedelia and a police officer, correct?” Jack asked.

Hannibal nodded, continuing to eat. 

Will and Hannibal were the only ones eating, much to his irritation.

“You won’t get away with the murder of a police officer and an FBI agent. They’ll never stop looking for you.” Jack warned.

“I have no doubt.”   
Will huffed at that, looking to his husband. “Romantic.”   
Hannibal grinned at their inside joke.

“He has you brainwashed, you have to know that, Will. Look at you-”   
Will’s lip curled into a sneer, all the bottled up anger he kept at the man overflowing all at once.

They were going to kill him anyway, Will justified.

He stood, grabbing the knife off the table that Hannibal had used to serve the food and stalked towards Jack.

“Will, you don’t want to do this,” Jack pleaded, lifting his lone hand out to placate him.

Will didn’t hesitate, driving the long, serrated knife into his chest. A punched out sound left his mouth, wide eyes looking up to Will in disbelief, shocked.

He pulled the knife out only to plunge it back in one last time, the splatter of blood across his face a familiar and welcoming feeling.

Will gave him a detached frown, sitting back down in his seat.

No one moved. No one dared to even breathe, eyes locked on Jack in horror.

Jack struggled, single hand pulling at the knife, blood gurgling out of his mouth as it filled his punctured lung.

He fumbled, too weak from the sedative and the blood loss to make it out of his chair. Eventually, his head landed back against the chair, chest surging one last time before he stilled completely.

Jack’s final breath was like fresh air to Will. They would always have to look over their shoulders, never lingering for too long in one place, but it wouldn’t be Jack hunting them, obsessive over them anymore.

“I thought we agreed to do that after dinner,” Hannibal hummed, taking another bite.

Will gave him an apologetic look.

“Jack,” Alana breathed, staring at the body in grief.

Will took a bite, ignoring her. “You’re an incredible chef as always.”   
Hannibal smiled. “Thank you, Will. It’s nice to cook in my kitchen one last time. I never could get used to the one at the other house. Ms. Lounds,” Hannibal turned his attention to her. “How did you ever find us there?”   
Freddie visibly gulped. “I… all the murders. I tracked you.”   
“Clever,” Hannibal nodded. “Please, eat.”

She looked down at her plate, looking ready to gag. “I’m not hungry.”   
Frederick stirred, Will, having forgotten he was even still there. He looked groggily from Will to Jack’s body and back before muted, frantic sounds began to spill from him, unable to form words without his tongue.

Hannibal sighed, half-standing as he reached across the table. He slid the plate out from underneath Chilton before he wrapped a strong hand around the back of his head.

With a loud bang, he slammed his head down against the table, quieting the sounds at once.

When he sat back down, adjusting his tie that was never out of place, Frederick didn’t arise again.

“Is he dead?” Freddie dared to ask, having grown some sort of attachment to the man she was kept prisoner with.

“No, merely unconscious.”

“So,” Alana cleared her throat. “How did you two survive?”   
It was an obvious ploy to get them talking to save herself and her wife. She even went as far as to take a bite of the food on her plate, poking mostly at the vegetables with a grimace that she hid behind a forced smile.

Will explained, leaving Chiyoh out of the story. He had already told Hannibal they were not going to kill Alana or Margot, only because Morgan needed parents. Hannibal had offered the day they took them to keep the child as an offering to Will for taking Abigail and his child with Margot. He considered it, imagined the life they could have. Morgan was still young enough it might have been alright to raise him as their own, but in the end, declined. As much as he wanted to be a dad he knew he couldn’t raise a child like this as tempting as it was to have someone to teach how to fish and hunt.

“And you’ve been in Cuba since?”

“Until we had dinner with Bedelia,” Hannibal nodded.

Alana frowned. “I thought you two were… close.”   
“They were,” Will said behind his wine glass. “So were you.”   
Alana paled again, shutting her mouth abruptly.

Margot, surprisingly, spoke up. “So were we. Are you going to kill me too?”

Hannibal sighed. “As pleasurable as the experience would be, I am not near as vengeful as my husband. You have a child to think of as well.”

The conversation died at that.   
Hannibal and Will finished their meal first, waiting patiently for their guests to finish their own, each bite taken painstakingly slow. Will could understand now the sadistic glee Hannibal took in feeding people to themselves. Each bite they managed to look like it physically hurt to swallow. 

“Where will you go after this?” Freddie asked, always nosing around things she didn’t need to be.

“Italy,” Hannibal answered, surprisingly.

Will suppressed a manic grin. He would never tell her their plan, knowing she is a journalist unless he was planning to kill her. Freddie Lounds wouldn’t be leaving the table, just like Jack. “After that, I’m not sure.” he looked to Will, an open invitation to tell him places he would like to visit.

Will sipped his wine. “I enjoyed Cuba, maybe we could go back for our anniversary in a few years. Otherwise, I would like to see Europe with you.”

“What a charming picture that is,” Freddie commented.

“Are you finished eating, Ms. Lounds?” Hannibal asked at her rude sarcasm.

The woman didn’t respond, looking at Hannibal like he might bite.

Instead, he stood, walking around the table to Jack’s corpse.

With a sharp jerk, he pulled the knife free of his chest where it had been lodged, using the napkin in front of him to wipe off the blood so the knife gleamed.

With a realization as to what was going to happen next, Freddie tried to push herself away from the table, using what little strength she had to try and tip her chair back far enough to wiggle out from it.

Hannibal beat her to it. He grabbed a fist full of her wild red curls, reminiscent of the way Will had when he had pretended to kill her so long ago. He used her hair to pull her up, stretching her neck back, and exposed.

Margot practically fell into Alana, trying to get out of the way as Hannibal dragged the knife cleanly across her throat with grace as if he was playing the violin instead of killing a woman.

Her scream was cut short with the severance of her vocal cords, blood spewing out across the table and spattering over Margot who was caught in the spray.

Hannibal set her back down in the chair, letting her slump over against the table with her last dying chokes.

Margot kept the same horrified look on her face, pressed tightly against Alana. “Oh my god.”   
“Anyone else?” Hannibal asked Will who shrugged.

“Just Frederick. The other two can live, don’t you think?” Will asked, looking to their more unenthusiastic guests still laying against the table.

Alana bit her lip, tears streaming down her cheeks. “How can you do that? Arbitrarily decide who lives and dies like some kind of god?”

“We aren’t gods, Alana,” Hannibal chided, using another napkin to wipe his hands clean of Freddie Lounds’s blood. “We simply do not hide from him.”

Will rounded the table, pressing a kiss to the man’s cheek. “Thank you for dinner. Maybe we can make use of your bed once our guests leave.”   
“I would love nothing more, mylimasis.” Hannibal smiled.

Will turned his sights to the two women watching them uncertainty. “You can walk out of here. Leave, never come back or look for us again.”

Alana nodded in understanding.

“If you do, I promise you it won’t just be you and Margot who suffer for it,” Hannibal warned, voice low and threatening.

“We won’t bother you if you won’t bother us,” Alana nodded, pushing her hair out of her face that stuck in her tear tracks.

“Got it,” Margot agreed eagerly. “You won’t see us ever again, swear by it.”   
Will’s eyes drifted to Alana who was staring him down yet again. Finally, she spoke. “Is this really the life you’re choosing?”

“It’s the life I was made for.”

  
  
  


It all felt like a bad dream, Frederick thought.

He was kidnapped, kept in a basement by those psychos who cut out his tongue, forced to sit at some kind of fucked up Last Supper, and fed his own tongue.

His eyes fluttered open, a pounding in his head that made him groan in pain. He reached up, feeling at the goose egg on his forehead that was already forming from how hard he must have hit his head. He didn’t remember how he hit it exactly, but he did remember the biting pain of it and the fear that accompanied it.

Looking around, the first thing he was greeted by was the body of Freddie Lounds across from him. He pushed himself back from the table quickly, a gargled sound leaving his lips.

With a sinking horror, he opened his mouth, reaching two fingers inside. 

Nothing.

It wasn’t all just some bad dream, it was all too real. A reality he had yet to escape.

Jack’s body was still in the chair, blood splattered all over the table. With a sick feeling, he followed a trail of blood from Freddie that came up to him. Running his fingers through his hair confirmed it, sticky dried blood clumping it that didn’t belong to him.

He was going to throw up.

“I think our last guest is awake,” a voice spoke from the kitchen.

Frederick stood, dizzily hanging on to the edge of the table to stable himself as Will appeared in the doorway.

“Dr. Chilton, perhaps you should have a seat, you might have a concussion,” Graham came closer, holding his hands out as if he was going to steady him, crossing the room faster than Frederick could follow.

This was it, he thought miserably. He was going to be killed by Will Graham of all people. Except Will Graham was holding his arms in a death grip, keeping him pinned in place as Hannibal entered the room and he couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move-

Then it was over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't decide if this story needs an epilogue, if you have an opinion let me know! And come talk to me on Twitter @Jellypanda00 I love talking about fandom stuff!


	10. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One Year Later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe I wrote 50k words for this! That's crazy! That's like. a book or something lmao, please enjoy the epilogue, it's smut because what else do I ever write. Let me know what you think!

One Year Later

Fly fishing in Florence Italy was not all that different from it was in Wolf Trap Virginia. It was a comfort to escape into nature again, once Will found the secluded river. The scenery was, of course, different, the aesthetic trees and buildings that peaked over the tops of them in the distance quite different than what could be seen at the river at his old home, as was the much warmer weather, but there was a methodical, calm found in the repetitiveness of the act itself. 

He was going to miss this particular spot when they made the move to Paris in a few days. He was sure he could find somewhere to fish there too, but this spot had become special to him over the last few months. It was where Hannibal had attempted to learn fishing, it was where they had come to relax with a sketchbook and Will’s gear. They had regular picnics, Hannibal understanding Will’s penchant for being outdoors.

Will let out a sigh as he cast the reel one last time. The sun was already beginning to set and he didn’t want to be late to dinner. He still hadn’t invested in a phone but he could imagine Hannibal tracking him down out here if he happened to be late one more time.

Tonight was one of their last nights in Florence. It had been as beautiful as Will guessed it would be. Hannibal took the time to show him around the city, all the places he grew up, divulging more and more personal stories about his family and growing up here than Will thought he ever would. They even took a trip to the place Chiyoh shot him so he wouldn’t stab Hannibal, reminiscing on their shared cruelty with fondness.

So far, no one had tracked them down here. Alana and Margot had gone into hiding as soon as they left the house in Baltimore that night, not even the FBI was able to track them down for questioning. The FBI was currently on a rabbit trail leading to Mexico, led by a young Agent Starling, an up and comer that Will had briefly taught a few years back. She would never catch them though.

He let his mind drift and wander, listening intently to the breeze that rustled the trees and the quiet flow of the stream, thinking how nice it would have been to have Abigail out here with him. Her death would always be forgiven but not forgotten, a pang in his heart if he dwelled on her too long all these years later.

The sun continued to set, the only reminder of the passage of time before he gave up, settling for the two brown trout he had caught as being his prize for the day. He wadded out of the stream and to the shore, picking up his gear for the short walk back to civilization.

Their house that they had chosen turned out to be perfect for them, just outside the city life for Hannibal, where the neighbors were far and wide apart for the privacy and seclusion Will craved. They both found work under their aliases to keep up appearances though they had flexible hours to allow them to spend time together without the harsh tension that had built while they were in Cuba.

As the house came into view, his steps quickened, pleased to see Hannibal’s car parked outside the house next to his.

The front door was predictably unlocked, whether from Hannibal just arriving at the home or from his aversion to locking up, he wasn’t sure.

A cold nose immediately greeted him, Bailey nosing at his knee as he walked in, tail wagging excitedly. Her brother, an old, grey in the face lab let out a short bark at him, though his tail never quit thumping against the floor.

He greeted them quietly, crouching down on the floor to pet them both and apologize for leaving them for so long. After they both received adequate attention, he stood, going to the kitchen to lay the fish in the sink before they dripped anywhere else, Bailey already licking excitedly at the drops of an indiscernible liquid that had fallen in the floor. Will made a face, but the deed was done and she was happily off to go lick at her brother’s ears next.

The oven was on and cooking, showing there was still an hour left on whatever Hannibal was making tonight, though the man himself was nowhere to be seen.

Frowning, Will wandered into their bedroom curiously.

Hannibal sat on the bed, fiddling with one of the few boxes they had packed. It was strange how their entire lives packed away so easily in so few boxes, though he supposed at one point they only had a getaway bag and each other.

He greeted him with a smile, dressed in his usual suit and ugly, paisley tie. “You’re back early.”  
Will snorted. “Only because I fear your wrath for missing dinner. What’s cooking?”

“The rude vet from last month made a wonderful steak and kidney pie.”

Will hummed his excitement for the meal, coming closer to the bed.

Hannibal parted his knees, allowing Will to fill the space between and pulling his face up into a searing kiss, all tongue and hot breath, then moving down his neck, stubble rough under his lips.

“Perhaps a shower first though,” Hannibal prompted, nose upturned ever so slightly as he pulled back, stronghold around his waist preventing Will from following him to keep the nonexistence distance between them.

“Why?”  
He frowned. “You smell particularly like fish today.”

Will smirked, stealing him in another kiss and whispering against his lips, “I think you like it. Secretly.”  
“I enjoy the way you smell, but I believe my limit is drawn at fish.”   
“What if I didn’t want to shower,” Will purred, wrapping his hand around his neck, running his thumb over his Adam's apple just to feel it bob beneath the pressure.

Hannibal didn’t shy away, the subtle hold against his hips unwavering. “I’m afraid I must insist.”

Will sighed dramatically, raking his fingers through his hair just to mess it up, making Hannibal look only somewhat as worked up as he felt.

With a sigh, Will pulled away, resigning himself to a cold shower.

When he finished, he fed the dogs their homemade dog food from the crockpot while Hannibal finished up and set the table before they both took a seat.

“How was work today?” Will asked, picking up his fork and resisting the urge to shovel the food in like a heathen despite the rumble in his stomach from fishing all day instead of eating.

“Good, I saw to the last of my patients today and gave out referrals. We can spend the next few days getting ready to leave.”

“Do you think any of them will do it?” Will asked, intrigued. He knew all too well what a year under Hannibal’s therapy could do to a person, what he influenced them to do.

Hannibal smiled at him, picking up his wine glass. “Only time will tell.”

He used to be so upset by his psychological abuse, even when Hannibal was locked up Will found himself shuttering at the thought of manipulating someone to kill the way he did to so many of his patients. Now he was fascinated by his ability to do so, as long as it wasn’t turned on him, spending many evenings at Hannibal’s new office and listening to him describe what it was he was doing to them.

Dinner was an enjoyable affair as it always was, discussing their days and interests, thoughts, feelings, never running out of things to talk about.

The domesticity of it was always so striking as they stood, sipping their wine and sharing smiles over dishes, such a starkly calm existence when compared to their past lives.

“I no longer smell like fish,” Will quipped, drying off the last of the pans.

Hannibal’s eyes crinkled in amusement. “You do not.”  
“And it’s one of our last nights here.”   
“It is.” Hannibal agreed.

Will shot him a sly look, watching him continue to clean the kitchen, wiping down the cabinets. “We should make use of the bed again. One last time.”  
“We will still need somewhere to sleep after today, Will,” Hannibal hummed, ignoring his implications.

Will huffed. “Hannibal.”

His sly look was returned over his shoulder. “You could go wait in the bed while I finish up the kitchen.”  
He didn’t need to be told twice. Will folded the dishtowel neatly, trailing a hand over Hannibal’s lower back as he passed him, hurrying to their room excitedly.

Once there, he wasted no time in stripping out of his clothes quickly, hardly caring if all the articles made it even close to the hamper tucked away in the corner of the room. The socks and pant leg that missed would undoubtedly irritate Hannibal in the morning when he noticed them, but Will couldn’t be bothered enough to care.

He grabbed the lube from their bedside table, crawling into their carefully made bed and arranging himself amongst the pillows.

And he waited.

And waited.

He was almost certain that Hannibal was just fucking with him now, it did not take this long to clean the kitchen normally. The anticipation was biting at him and fidgeting with the pillows and the blankets weren’t going to cut it much longer.

He could practically see the sun setting outside their window, the only sign of time passing in the room.

His mind drifted to the lube lying innocently next to him with a growing feeling of contempt. He reached for the bottle, popping open the cap and impulsively squeezing out a dollop of the clear sticky liquid into his hand. If Hannibal wasn’t going to join him, he would do it himself.

It had been a long, long time since Will last felt the need to jerk off alone, always seeking out his husband when he got horny instead of his hand, but it wasn’t as if he forgot how.

The first touch was tentative, working the cold slick over his half-hard length, rubbing and massaging his member, his eyes never left the doorway, trying to mentally urge Hannibal into the room.

He thought about slipping his other hand down lower to get himself ready for when Hannibal did decide to grace him with his presence but decided against it, focusing instead on the mounting pressure in his abdomen. Will imagined the way Hannibal touched him, his hands, his face, how it felt to fuck him and be fucked by him. His hips canted into his hand, speeding up when he became fully hard.

Finally, a noise drew him from his thoughts, not realizing his eyes had slipped closed. Hannibal stood in the doorway, having shed his jacket and tie, leaving him in only his dress shirt and slacks. He looked Will over curiously, every place his gaze lingered feeling as if it was burning. 

He approached the bed calmly, face not giving away a single thought that he was having, much to Will’s annoyance.

“Do you remember what you said, that night on the boat?” Hannibal asked stopping in front of the bed instead of getting in it like Will craved for him to do. “If I recall, you said you promised you would do anything I wanted you to do.”

“Yes,” Will nodded eagerly. “Anything.”

“We haven’t explored that sentiment yet, but I would like to tonight if you are amicable.”

Will could only nod, both nervous and thrilled at whatever it was that was about to take place.

“I want you to slow your hand down, but don’t stop.” He turned, taking a seat in the chair at the end of their bed, leaning back and watching him with expecting eyes.

Will gulped though he didn’t shy away under his gaze. Slowly, he did as he was told, sliding his hand up and down languidly.

He didn’t mind being watched, at least, not by Hannibal. Before the fall, he probably would have died at the very thought but there was nothing left between them unseen or unsaid.

His body had changed, ever so subtly over the last few months, muscles becoming more defined from their hunting, more scars from both their victims littering his skin, the thin slice on his thigh a memento from Bedelia. A few were even from Hannibal, just as Will had left his own marks underneath his clothes from the times they had fought and taken things too far.

He couldn’t imagine a life that was better suited for him, the way the monster inside him basked at the sight of the scars, both on himself and Hannibal.

With Hannibal in the room, it seemed as if the temperature was skyrocketing, sweat dotting the edges of his hairline already, chest heaving with each torturously slow movement.

His voice sounded like velvet, dark, and entrancing as he cooed out his commands from across the room.

“Spread your legs more, Will.”

He did, baring himself all the more. Will focused his eyes anywhere but at Hannibal who never looked away; always as if he was seeing more than just his body on display but his entire soul as well.  
“Faster.”

Will sped up, a subtle thrust into the slick squelching of his hand and a quiet sigh of relief leaving his lips. His overheated cock welcomed the speed, soothing the ache of arousal. Unconsciously, he continued to speed up, fucking his hand with abandon when Hannibal’s voice cut through the air like a knife.  
“Take your hand away.”

Will dropped his member like it burned, clenching his fist in the bed with a sobbed out whine, refocusing on Hannibal still watching eagerly from the chair.

“Shit,” he sighed, still on fire though the flames had quieted without the continuous stimulation.

When Hannibal deemed him calm enough, it started all over again, forcing Will to torture himself, driving closer to the edge only to make him stop before he reached it.

Will bit his lip, helpless to follow orders just to see the pleased look in his eyes, the subtle quirk of Hannibal’s lips into a smirk, his erection ignored in his slacks twitching with interest.

“On your knees, please dear.”

Will blinked, processing what was being asked of him before he followed direction. The order was as much a blessing as it was a curse.

Turning over on the bed on his knees, chest pressed into soft silk sheets, cock hanging between his legs hard and angry. He spread his thighs, face burning at the position, thankful he couldn’t see Hannibal’s face. He was sure if he could he would spontaneously combust on the spot.

“Stretch yourself open for me.”

The lube had rolled into his side, easy to find more to add to his hand. Reaching around, he ignored the urge to hide, spreading himself open and wasting no time with sliding the first finger in.

Will squirmed, unable to get fully comfortable with the odd position, still following Hannibal’s commands, slowing down and speeding up when told, adding a second finger then a third until it felt like he might die if he didn’t get to cum already. The angle of his arm didn’t let him get as deep as he needed to brush the bundle of nerves inside, always so close yet so far away.

“Hannibal,” Will whined, voice high and needy, working himself over at the torturously slow pace. “Please!”  
“Stop.”

His hand hit the bed with a frustrated moan, chest heaving, groin aching, and arousal throbbing. He had just barely come down from the high when Hannibal ordered him to start again.

His arm was beginning to ache, heart racing, and unable to get enough air like he was suffocating against the sheets. It was all too much, too good, yet he didn’t stop, it wasn’t what Hannibal wanted him to do, nor did he want to.

When he neared the edge yet again, he threw a desperate look over his shoulder the best he could, trying to convey how much he needed Hannibal in a single look. “Hannibal, no more.”

Will didn’t know when Hannibal had stripped out of his shirt, nor could he care, head falling back against the bed restlessly.

When nothing was said in return, Will felt a bubble of frustration grow in his chest, threatening to release with a scream.

There was a shuffle in the quiet room, soft footsteps as the man finally decided to approach the bed. “Good boy, Will,” he whispered.

His entire body jolted at the first touch of his hand against his side like electricity had coursed through him. He pulled his hand away, relaxing the aching joints against the bed.

The bed dipped as Hannibal crawled into it, the excitement palpable in the air around them.

Strong hands around his waist pulled him back, Will following the urging touch eagerly.

It never ceased to amuse him the way prim and proper Hannibal would discard his clothes during sex. Another shuffle and a quiet plop on the floor alerted him to his trousers being tossed on the floor, not even near the hamper. It would irk him as soon as they were done, but at the moment he was too focused on Will to care.

“You did so well for me,” Hannibal ran his hand down his back, caressing every inch of skin he could reach.

Will shivered, basking in the praise he never seemed to tire of hearing.

The slow and easy feeling only lasted for so long after so much tension being built between them. Hannibal lined himself up, pushing gently inside him with the last shred of control they both had left.

He pulled back out, slamming into him hard and brutal, fucking him with all of the pent up arousal that had grown from the night of constant teasing. The sudden intrusion didn’t burn, having stretched and fucked himself so much already.

Will grabbed at the blankets, holding onto them as Hannibal wrapped his arm around his waist, pulling him back with every thrust.

His shoulder burned with every harsh bite Hannibal gave him, the pain mixing with pleasure in a cocktail of sensation that had his body alight, lavishing the bruising area with kisses and nips right after in apology. Will silently cursed not being able to do the same, the taste of blood akin to pleasure in their world.

The first touch of his hand on Will’s oversensitive cock was it. The constant edging, teasing from the night left him feeling ready to explode at the drop of a hat. He barely bit out a warning before he came with a bust, Hannibal’s stroking him through it, never stopping as he chased his orgasm, nailing his prostate with every thrust.

An eternity could have passed and Will wouldn’t have been aware of it, time inching by with every overwhelming sensation. The grip on his hip tightened, Hannibal’s fingertips becoming an almost permanent bruise on his skin. He came with a low groan, stilling as he pumped cum deep inside him.

Comfortable silence enveloped them, filled only by the sounds of their rising chests, trying to catch their breaths, though even that quieted eventually.

Hannibal pulled out of him, gently moving him to lay down in the dirty sheets, a deep sated painful relief filling Will’s bones at the movement of his stiff muscles.

Ever the caretaker, Hannibal massaged at the sorest places until the pain was soothed, everything feeling loose and warm before he laid down next to him, the steady rise and fall of his chest a needed comfort for Will to be able to sleep anymore.

He was almost sure that Hannibal might have fallen asleep but before he could follow, a question that had been burning in his mind bubbled back up.

Will looked over, unsurprised to see Hannibal’s eyes closed, only the smallest of movements in response to his giving away that he was still awake.

“Do you think they’ll ever catch us?” Will sat up, running his fingers through the light-colored hairs of Hannibal’s chest, tracing the faint outline of any scars he could find from over the years.

Hannibal stared at him, lazily traced his hand down his back in return, gentle and sweet, making him shiver at the light touch with the spark of pain when his thumb snagged on a harsh bite. “Perhaps. Or we will stay on the run and grow old together, die in the same bed instead of a prison cell. Even rot in hell together.”  
Will smiled at the warm feeling the thought gave him, picturing them both old and gray, hobbling after their prey with walkers and canes. “We would kill each other before he died old.”

Hannibal smiled. “I wouldn’t doubt that.”  
“So we live in this sin forever and when faced with God, choose to rot in hell together?”

“Exactly that, mylimasis,” Hannibal kissed his forehead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come talk to me on twitter! @jellypanda00

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you thought! And come talk to me about Hannibal on Twitter, I love talking about fandom stuff! @Jellypanda00


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